Sneeze Unease
by Gomro Morskopp
Summary: COMPLETE. Kim and Ron Stoppable have put crime-fighting behind them, until a mysterious theft brings them back into the fray,unaware a new villain lurks in the shadows. "Revelations etc."/"Hallowe'en Scene" universe, but no Cthulhu content this time.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Bone Palace Ballet_ by Chiodos; _Sing-Along Songs for the Damned and Delirious _by Diablo Swing Orchestra.

* * *

Kim slowly drifted out of dreaming back to consciousness, her hand on her husband's chest, his strong heart pulsing beneath her palm. She felt her own heartbeat increase in response; her breathing grew heavy as a smile played about her lips.

"Ron," she whispered in his ear, her body trembling. Lately Cinnabar had been having trouble sleeping; for nearly two weeks they'd been awakened by the five-year-old standing beside their bed, asking Mommy and Daddy to let her sleep with them. But tonight there had been no interruptions, and Kim had every intention of seizing the moment.

"Ron," she said again, her voice uncontrollably husky.

He stirred, mumbled. "…Room full of feathers, Kim…"

That wouldn't do. "Ron, wake up." She gently nipped his ear. "Wake upppp…"

His hand came up, covered hers. "Lazy _gravity_," he murmured, and returned to snoring.

"Oh, good grief." She sighed. "_Ron_!"

Brown eyes snapped open in the darkness. "What?"

"Honey… I love you…." She snuggled against him as he turned in the bed. Her eyes half-lidded, sensual.

An unfamiliar voice broke in. "Miss Possible – er – Mrs. Stoppable, you might want to hold that thought."

Husband and wife came bolt upright, holding the covers to their bodies. Lights came up to reveal the bed encircled by Global Justice agents.

"Ok, what – is – the – _sitch_?" Ron snarled, a split second before his startled wife could form the words. "Why are you goons in our _bedroom_?"

From the darkness above them Dr. Betty Director, head of the clandestine organization, descended on a hoverpad. This time she was wearing the eyepatch on her _left_ eye; apparently she hadn't realized that everyone knew she only wore it for the shock value. "Actually, your bed is in the goons' _headquarters_. A trick we learned from Dementor's personal teleportation belt." She paused to let that sink in. "We have a mission for you."

"Been living underground too long, _Betty._" Kim spat the name with distaste. She'd been doubtful about turning the mad scientist's device over to GJ's leader, despite her husband's insistence; sure enough, it had come back to bite them. "We don't _do_ missions any more. We have a daughter. A _life_. "

"Where is she? Where's Cinnabar?" Blue light flickered faintly around the angry young man; GJ agents shuffled uneasily, tightening their grip on their stun batons, not at all certain they could handle the Master of Mystical Monkey Power if he didn't want to be handled.

"She's fine." A giant screen lit up behind Director, revealing the little girl playing with GJ agents, the floor covered with toys. "We're looking after her. We think of everything, you know."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "I can tell you _one_ thing you _haven't_ thought of. Ever see _The Incredibles_? –"

Kim elbowed him beneath the covers, gave him a knowing glance: _Let them find out for themselves._

Director ignored the cryptic comment, proceeding with the business at hand. "Someone has stolen the world's supply of pure gazuntite."

"Who sneezed?" husband and wife asked in unison.

"No one sneezed."

"Then why'd you say Gesundheit?" Kim asked.

One of the GJ men spoke up. "Yeah. You _did_ say Gesundheit."

Director's face grew dark. "Agent, when I want your opinion, I'll have you filled with truth serum." She turned back to the Stoppables, her words a professional staccato. "I said _gazuntite_, not Gesundheit. G-a-z-u-n-t-i-t-e."

Ron was confused. "I thought that was how you _spelled_ Gesundheit."

"No, that's G-e-s-u—"

The conversation had become a Gordian knot; Kim cut it. "You want Drakken and Shego. They're the crook-catchers now. Brought in Phobos and Deimos last week. It was all over the news. Maybe you missed it."

"No, Mrs. Stoppable," Director said, dryly, "I didn't _miss_ it." On the viewscreen, three GJ men went flying unceremoniously across the room; Cinnabar giggled happily, surrounded in blazing blue light, and jumped out of camera range.

Ron laughed, snorted, composed himself. Their daughter couldn't maintain it for long, but she was already on a power level several times that of Ron's adopted sister, Hana. Sometimes he wondered what the teenage years were going to bring.

Director eyed Ron strangely, unaware of the televised chaos behind her, and continued her tirade. "Phobos and Deimos are hardly master criminals."

Kim's tone was sharp. "They were good enough to bring your best men down. With Zodiac Gas." The twin terrors' most feared weapon, Zodiac Gas forced its victims to imitate the qualities of their astrological sign. KXKVI's news report had lingered quite a while on special agent Will Du, crawling around on his knees, holding his hands out like claws, viciously pinching anyone who got too close. The effects lasted a full forty-eight hours; using a large seine, GJ had netted the unfortunate Du and carried him back to HQ.

Du had resigned not too long afterward, going up north to sell used weather machines. Apparently there was quite a market for them there.

"Be that as it may," growled Director, "Drakken and Shego are not the kind of people that Global Justice recruits."

"And we are?"

"You don't have the sullied past those two have. Your record speaks for itself." She softened her tone, gave Kim a pleading gaze; it wasn't quite the Puppy Dog Pout, but it was close. "We need your help."

Unexpectedly the young woman heard her voice ask "What _is_ gazuntite?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, KP!" The nickname would never vanish from Ron's vocabulary. "We aren't doing this any more, remember?" He glared at Director. "Teleport us back home. We're done here."

"Gazuntite," Director said, scowling at her men, silently daring them to comment, "is the active ingredient in sneezing powder."

Kim frowned. "Oh. Well, _that_ was sure worth disturbing our rest. Are you afraid this'll put some practical jokers out of business?"

"Ha ha ha. No, Mrs. Stoppable, I'm not worried about practical jokers. The gazuntite in sneezing powder is one-billionth the strength of the shipment that was stolen. It was on its way to the Dishonor House Company when the crooks intercepted it."

"Dishonor House?" In spite of himself, Ron was interested. "Biggest name in pranks and goofy gimmicks ever. I ordered a Super Whoopee Cushion from them once." His voice grew wistful. "Took it to school with me. Boy, that was great." He grimaced. "Until the beatings started, of course."

"They have the world's largest gazuntite processor. The raw ore is brought to the factory and diluted to safe levels. Well, as safe as sneezing powder gets." She looked as if she might have more than one bad memory connected with the substance. With a twin brother like Gemini, it was entirely possible.

"Do we know how they got it?" Kim asked, feeling the web grow tighter, almost relishing its grip. _I said _we_, not _they_,_ she thought. _Do I miss it that much?_

Director produced a remote control; with a click the giant viewscreen left the desecrated nursery, where bruised and battered agents nervously watched Cinnabar playing with Cuddle Buddies. "This is satellite footage." A massive armored transport rumbled across the spring landscape; sinister figures descended from overhead stealthcopters, zeroing in on the vehicle.

Kim was impressed. "Don't see that sort of competence among henchmen very often."

"Exactly my point." They had speedily burned a hole through the top of the transport, attached cables to the crate within. In another moment the copters had lifted it from the machine, hurtled off into the distance. "One more reason I need you and your husband, not _Drakken _and_ Shego_." The disgust in her voice was palpable. "This calls for seasoned crimefighters, not mountebanks and Johnny-come-latelies."

"Yeah," Ron interjected, "you lost me. But we're not doing this. Are we, Kim?"

"Right. I mean, no. No, we're not. Doing this. I mean, there's our daughter. My folks are too busy. You know, Dad has that new rocket project. And Mom's hours… you never know."

Ron nodded. "You never know."

"And – and your parents couldn't look after her just a little while. Till we finished. The mission."

"No. They couldn't." Again he favored the head of Global Justice with the evil eye. "Send us back home. We're done here."

Director descended further, handed Kim a small device. "In case you change your mind."

"We won't," said Ron. "So send us back."

He was looking at the walls of their bedroom, the familiar chest of drawers, the curtained window. "Where were we, Mrs. Stoppable, before that interruption?"

But Kim was out of bed, throwing on a nightgown, walking from the room, her words floating back to him in the near-darkness: "I – I need a drink. Of water," she unnecessarily amended.

A second later he heard his daughter's excited chatter, telling Mommy about the funny dream she'd had, and the silly men in it. "And there was a pandaroo there, Mommy. Your favorite."

_No nightmares tonight_, he thought. _Not for her_. He sighed. He'd call his parents tomorrow. See if they could watch Cinnabar a few days.

There was a mission in his future.

* * *

"Retrieving it is worth a lot to us," Tom Median, CEO of Dishonor House, Inc, told the woman facing him. "We're talking five figures here. No less than five figures. _If_ you bring it back undamaged, undiluted, unpolluted."

"And the first of those five figures would be a nine?"

"Aah… more like a five."

"Make it a seven and it's done."

"Then it's done."

"You won't be sorry." Her gloved hand reached out; Median shook it gravely. Of course the joy buzzer went off; the woman ignored it. Took all the fun out of the gimmick. "Shego and Drakken are on the case. You'll have your shipment back by Friday."

"Seven days?"

"Ten thousand a day. We're worth it."

When the emerald harlequin was gone, Median looked at his hand. Five small pinpricks. He hadn't realized the woman's glove was clawed. Five little crimson droplets.

That was fine. Some things were better sealed in blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _The Kiss and Other Movements _and_ The Piano Concerto/MGV _by Michael Nyman_._

* * *

"We got one," the green woman announced. "The Dishonor House theft. They're willing to pay big to get that shipment back. Real big."

Drakken answered without looking away from the computer screen. "Shego, do you remember Team Impossible?"

"Was that one of your cloning disasters?"

"They were a superhero team. Had a great theme song."

"Never heard of them."

"Kim Possible put them out of business. Because they were _mercenary_."

"I didn't ask. They offered." She omitted the bantering that had settled the price. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Well, if they _offered_."

She went into the master bedroom to change into something more comfortable. The costume was only for business. She had considered redesigning it when she decided to return to heroics, but changed her mind. "Guy that runs the place is a nut, but he has money. Dishonor House has been around since, what, Colonial times? 'Thou hast truly surprised me with thy snake-in-a-can. How very _droll_, O my brother.' " Her laugh was like clear water in a brook. "We're looking at seventy thousand berries."

There was silence.

"Dr. D!" She came back into the lab, clad in shorts and a Slipknot t-shirt. "Did you hear _anything_ I said?"

The doctor was engrossed in reading something on the monitor, completely oblivious to anything around him. His lips moved slightly as he read. "Huh? Oh. Have you ever heard of Fanfix dot com?"

"I have a life. I fight crime, you know? I don't sit in front of a computer watching Fearless Ferret videos."

"These are stories. People write stories about other people's characters."

"And then get sued?"

"Who knows? Anyway, they write about characters they idolize. I think it's called 'shipping.'" He was wrong, but neither of them knew that. "They even write about _real_ people. There are stories about _us_ on this site."

"About _us_?" Immediately she was interested, leaning over his shoulder to read, making it a lot harder for him to concentrate. "Let me see."

She was so beautiful. He was so fortunate. He'd almost lost her some years ago, in a way that summed up the old saw 'a fate worse than death.' But all that was behind them now. Now they were slowly making a new name for themselves as sleuths. Adventurers. World-savers. Even if the only big thing they'd accomplished so far was bringing in those insane twins Phobos and Deimos. A real pain in the neck, those two, even without their Zodiac Gas.

Sometimes he wondered if that was how Kim Possible and the guy she'd married felt about Shego and himself, back in the bad old days. Nuisances. Not world-threatening supervillains. Just annoyances.

Sometimes he upset himself with thoughts like that.

Shego chose a story at random, clicked on its link. Reading the monitor's contents, her beautiful face registered confusion, then something very close to anger. "This is outrageous!"

"That word doesn't fit your mouth."

"I have some _other_ words I _could_ use, if you'd like."

"Pass."

"Who wrote this?"

"It doesn't matter. They all use pseudonyms. Nom-de-plumes, as it were."

"Dementor and Electronique, partners? That's a nightmare."

"It gets worse. You might want to read a different one."

She ignored his advice and continued to read. "I thought you said they _idolized_ us." Someone was entirely too interested in gruesome details. "Oh, come _on_. I got half my face blown off? With my _own power_?" _Which I don't have any more,_ she thought, and slumped a little. Not many people knew that. The plasma-generating gloves her husband had invented covered the loss well. But they couldn't duplicate the feeling the power had given her, coursing through her body.

She knew now that both the power and its sensations had been engineered in another dimension by malevolent alien minds. It had killed her brothers. Forced her to obey the monsters that created it. Almost destroyed the world, maybe even the universe.

And yet she still missed it.

Drakken was almost apologetic. "Maybe they idolized _Dementor_. He does have his fans. Buncha lunatics," he snarled without thinking and bit his lip, afraid he might have offended her. Sometimes she was touchy about terms like that, since her own breakdown. Or whatever it had been.

She hadn't heard him; the fanfic had her in its clutches. "They couldn't do _that_ to _Kimmie_. Or to _me_. And what happens to _you_? Do you ever shake off the hypnotism?"

"No. I get killed. We both get killed. The whole world gets destroyed. Experiment run amok."

"And we're reading this – _why_?"

"It's interesting. And I _did_ tell you to read another one. There's a very cute series by Pinky Jo –"

She turned away with a sigh. "You _should_ be looking for a lead to the stolen gazuntite."

He looked puzzled. "Gesundheit?"

She realized she hadn't explained the case to him yet. "G-a-z –"

* * *

"Have you seen my wrist Kimmunicator?" She came through the hallway wearing the Battlesuit, the legendary grappling hook/hair dryer in her hand. "We can't get started until I find it."

"Yeah, well, we need to talk before we get started."

"Help me find the Kimmunicator first."

He didn't move from his perch on the side of the bed. "No. I mean it. We need to talk."

She stood before him, exasperation on her face. "What is it?"

"Sit down."

She obviously considered defying him, but changed her mind and flounced down on the mattress. "Why are you so wound up about this? It's just one mission. A _clandestine_ mission. No one will know."

"About a year ago we swore we wouldn't do this anymore. At least not until Cinnabar was older."

"It –" She trailed off, unsure of what her next words should be. "Global Justice recruited us, remember? It wasn't my fault."

"Who said anything about fault?"

Her expression softened. "So… what's the sitch?"

"Our daughter's at my folks' house. They're fine with that. But she's got my powers and your personality. What happens when she decides not to listen to Mamaw and Popaw Stoppable? What happens when she and Hana start rough-housing?"

"That won't happen. Cini loves her grandparents, and Hana's old enough to know better. In fact, maybe she can teach her not to use the MMP to play."

Ron continued, undeterred. "When we were on that last mission, we were both scared to death."

"Hello? We were fighting _monsters_. We got pulled into another _dimension_. Who wouldn't be scared?"

"You know that wasn't the reason. We've been through way worse than that. We were afraid we'd lose each other. Afraid we wouldn't get back home. We agreed to end it. Now look at you. It's been forever since you've been this worked up about anything."

"Shego and Drakken need some help. Did you see them on TV, struggling against Phobos and Deimos? We could have handled those two with our hands tied behind our backs."

He said nothing.

"I _miss_ it, Ron. Don't you miss it? I mean, I thought it would be easy to give it up. We have a life besides crimefighting. And we have Cini."

He frowned, just a little. He'd chosen his daughter's name, and he didn't like the diminutive that everyone was beginning to use. Especially since both his parents and MrsDrP had warned him that would happen. But he held his tongue. His wife was still pouring out her heart.

"Whenever I saw something on the news, some disaster, some crime, some supervillain attack, I knew we should be out there handling it. I've felt that way since we quit."

"It's not our destiny. We _volunteered_ for it. We _chose_ to do it. We _chose_ to stop."

"Maybe we made the wrong choice."

He reached under the bed, retrieved the Kimmunicator. "Here."

She looked at him with mock anger, grabbed the device from his hand, put it on. "Oh, you –"

"Just this once. No more." He kissed her. "We've got to show the new crew how it's done."

She jumped off the bed, continued gathering her things, a smile on her lips.

_It's like she's getting ready for spring break, _he thought_. Like we were in school again._

And suddenly some things came clear. A _lot_ of things came clear.

Unexpectedly the Kimmunicator beeped its alert. "Sitch, Wade?"

"Wade's not here, cuz," said Joss Possible. "Out gettin' pizza." Kim would have never have suspected that they would hit it off, but the teenage supergenius and the cowgirl seemed destined for a future together. "He asked me to get in touch with you, let you know where we stand on the current situation."

"So where do we stand?"

"Nuthin' on the gazuntite. But there is something strange going on in the Kleenex plantations. Someone's buyin' them up. Wade thinks it might have sumthin' t'do with the robbery."

"Do we know who?"

"Holding company. Chechon, Ltd."

"Spell that."

"C-h-e-c-h-o-n –"

She wrote the letters on a post-it note. It only took a second to decode it.

"HenchCo!"

"Never heard of it," said Joss.

Ron glanced at the post-it note, nodded appreciatively. "An _acronym._"

There was determination, direction, in Kim's eyes. Against his better judgment, Ron was impressed, even moved. This was the woman he had fallen in love with. Maybe he'd have to rethink the whole mission situation.

She spoke, and her voice rang with authority. "It's time to pay a visit to Jack Hench."

"Wonder if we're still in the running for that _tank_?"

"Come on."

* * *

In a hotel room somewhere in Upperton, two young women stood defiantly before the criminal mastermind who had engineered their escape from the Asylum for Super Lunatics. Tall, slim, blonde, tomboyish, they could have been Olympic gymnasts or Disney pop starlets.

They weren't. They were something else entirely.

From the right side of Deimos' head a silvery parabolic antenna on a swivel joint protruded through her long golden hair; Phobos' left eye was a lens and shutter aperture construction the size of a doorknob, filled with a deep crimson glow. The video of their origin had been immediately banned on EweTube, but it had already gone viral:

_The twin girls smiled into the webcam. "I'm Phoebe Marrs," said one. "And I'm Debbie Marrs," said the other. In unison, they happily chanted "And we're going to be — SUPERCRIMINALS!" _

_Phoebe stepped forward, a paring knife in one hand, a book in the other. She held out the book for the world to see: _Brain Surgery for Dummies_. _

_It was upside down._

"_I'm going to modify the instructions in this book," Phoebe giggled, "and attach a subsonic disruptor to my sister's cerebellum." She held the device up, wires hanging from its underside, a parabolic antenna limply dangling from its top. "We stole it from the Middleton Cybernetic Institute, on a school field trip. It's very dangerous and untested!"_

"_If that works," said Debbie as her sister began shaving her head, "tomorrow I'm going to implant a high-resolution cyberlaser attachment in Phoebe's eyesocket. And we're going to wirelessly interconnect our cerebral processes, too."_

"_We thought about waiting till we could get some anaesthetic," Phoebe grinned, "but Debbie thinks she can handle it."_

"_I know I can," added the now bald girl. "Wikipedia says the brain can't feel pain. So this can't be too bad."_

_Phoebe poured some rubbing alcohol over the paring knife, propped the book up with a large vase of Crazy Daisies, and went to work. She had some other tools, too: needlenose pliers, a set of salad tongs, an egg beater, a stapler, a soldering gun. There had followed three minutes that appalled the world. _

_After a crude segue of CGI flowers covering the screen, spelling out the words "Edited for Time," the image returned._

_Phoebe stepped back, her face pale and haggard, strands of hair pasted to her sweaty brow. The window behind her that had opened on a cheery, sunlit front yard was now filled with night. "OK, Debbie. OK, it's in."_

"_Is it in?" came the quavering, unsure response. The girl had fallen out of camera range._

"_It's in. You can relax. You did real good. You really did."_

"_I – I don't feel good, Phoebe. I feel sick. Is it in? Am I all right?"_

"_You're great. Show the world what you can do."_

_Debbie Marrs slowly weaved into view, the antenna jutting out just above her temple, her lopsided scalp riddled with staples. She smiled wanly, almost fainted, shook it off. The antenna whirred, directed itself toward the vase on the table._

_There was a colossal thrum and the vase exploded into shredded flowers, splattered water and shimmering dust._

"_It works," the girl said, and managed a feeble giggle. Before she collapsed._

_Phoebe was left staring down at her sister. "Debbie?"_

_There had never been a sequel._

"I brought you here," the fat man in black intoned, "because I need a diversion. My men will be doing some work at the Middleton Space Center tomorrow at 3 am. I need to make sure Shego doesn't show up there."

Phobos grimaced. "We-"

Deimos completed the sentence. "-_hate_ Shego. And –"

Phobos spoke up. " –her hubby Drakken. They spoiled-"

"- all our _fun_," Deimos finished.

"Don't do that," ordered the man, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his strange two-pointed hat.

"Why –"

"-not?"

"It is completely _unprofessional_ for supervillains to talk in ping-pong stereo. Even if they can. _Especially_ if they can."

"Is that your -"

"-_real_ nose? It looks –"

"-like a Frisbee!"

They laughed.

The ominous figure's face turned beet-red. "Never mind that!" A thick finger pointed at Deimos. "You talk. Phobos listens. I mean it. No more _stereo_. Or I'll have you back in the nuthouse before you say another word."

The girls pouted, but complied. "We _like_ to do that. It annoys our enemies."

"I can _believe_ it."

"And it's not stereo. It's Panor-Ambiophonic 4.1."

"We can read each other's minds," Phobos unexpectedly added. "I know what she did at Tommy Morrison's in seventh grade. Homework. _Biology_ homework." A giggle.

Instantly Deimos was on the defensive, her fists clenched. "You keep quiet, _Phoebe_! That's none of your business. Or do you want me to tell him about what happened in that _art museum_ on the _field trip_? John Englund, _remember_?"

"That wasn't me. That was you."

"It was?"

"I _think_. Sometimes it's hard to tell –"

"_Stop_!" They were silenced by the rage in that voice. "I don't care about any of that. I don't care what you do tomorrow, as long as it's big enough and bad enough to keep Shego busy for an hour or more. I want you to live up to your mythological namesakes." A diabolical snicker.

"Our what?" The twins looked confusedly at each other, at their sinister benefactor.

"Oh, for the luvva – _Phobos and Deimos_! Fear and Panic! The minions of the God of War!"

Their expressions didn't change.

"You do _know_ that those names mean 'fear' and 'panic,' don't you? They're Greek."

"We got them from Wikipedia," said Phobos.

Deimos' antenna spun slowly around its axis. "Our last name was Marrs, two r's, and we looked up Mars, one r, and it had two moons. Isn't that _silly_? We get along fine with just _one_ –"

Phobos interrupted her sister's musings. "Do Martians speak Greek?" she asked the man.

"Yes. Yes, they do." He gestured toward something in the corner of the room. "I also had my agents retrieve these. Knowing how much you enjoy them."

The twins ran toward the shiny cylinders, their eyes filled with magic, like children on Christmas morning. "Our Zodiac Gas!" They strapped on the cylinder harnesses, fastened the nozzles to their wrists, speaking in unison. "We _invented_ this. Because we _like_ horoscopes. Better than Animalogy. This is _great_."

"3 A.M." he sternly reminded them. "Tomorrow."

They nodded.

"Anywhere _but_ the Middleton Space Center."

"Who are you, mister?"

"My name isn't important. Yet." More evil laughter.

"Well, let us know-"began Deimos, as they headed for the door.

"-and we'll-"

"-put you on-"

"-our-"

"- holiday card list."

"The whole world will know who I am soon enough," he said.

The door closed behind them. A few minutes later there was a blast of car horns outside, a flash of searing red light, an explosion. A subsonic wave that shattered windows for a block.

The sound of two girls laughing. Having fun.

The man in black stepped into the closet, pushed a concealed button, and descended from sight.

His nose caught the edge of the secret elevator; a curse floated up from the depths.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Les Espaces Inquiets _and_ Phase IV _by Art Zoyd; _Univers Zero Live_ by Univers Zero.

* * *

Shego had finally finished filling her husband in on the gazuntite heist. "So that's the _sitch_." She realized what she'd said, her expression not unlike that of someone who'd swallowed a bug. "I'm never going to use that word again."

"A wise decision, I'm sure." The blue man began checking satellite feeds, top-secret government communications, news broadcasts and cell-phone conversations, all the millions of ways the world transmitted information. "There was a time," he said, entering a web address with one hand and adjusting some sliders with the other, "that this would have been impossible. The demise of hand-written letters was the epiphany of the electronic eavesdropper."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. So long as we can find the gazuntite before Friday. I promised Median we'd do it in seven days. I'd like to get it this evening. So we could take a few days off." A little smile played across her lips. "Maybe go up to the mountain cabin –"

"We've got trouble." He spun in his chair, clicked the huge wall screen on. Live coverage from KXKVI. Mayhem in lower Upperton. Cars sliced in half, storefronts smashed. "This looks _very_ unpleasant."

Reporter Gregg Greatman's face filled the screen; Drakken turned up the volume. "—scene in Upperton this evening. Destruction run rampant. The villains responsible have eluded the police thus far. By a miracle, there was no loss of life, but several people were victims of Zodiac Gas."

As if on cue, a policeman went by on all fours, chewing on what appeared to be the label of a tomato can, butting and kicking the officers who tried to help him.

Drakken's expression was grave. "Capricorn."

"It's more humiliating than life-threatening," Greatman needlessly explained.

Shego looked on in dismay. "Aah, no. _No_! I just fought those maniacs last _week_! They _can't_ be out _already_!"

"Looks like the cabin's not happenin'." He sounded as disheartened as she was. "You might as well suit back up. And let me check out the gloves. The last time you used them there was some generation lag."

"Not so I noticed."

"_I_ noticed. That's what I do."

"So we spend the evening waiting for those idiots to turn up?"

"They'll reappear sooner or later. We'll just monitor communications until they do."

"What if they wait a day or two? We can't just sit here. Maybe you could, I don't know, track the frequency of their cybernetic implants or something?" She was trying to be more tactful in suggesting things to him, especially elementary things. It had been so much easier to be a snarky sidekick than it was to be a supportive partner. "Any chance of something like that?" she added, to further soften the blow. Maybe, if she did this enough, he'd learn to try it without prompting.

Maybe.

Excitedly, he turned back to his instruments, began adjusting knobs, watching oscilloscope waves slide in and out of phase. She sighed, went back to the bedroom to put on the costume. Might be a long night.

* * *

"If this is about that tank giveaway," Jack Hench drawled, "there was a disclaimer printed on the entry form:_'Many will enter, few will win.'_ Few won. You weren't one of the few. Their names are confidential. Also on the entry form. Next question."

They were in Hench's palatial multi-story mansion, considered one of the seven wonders of the modern world by _Humans_ magazine. Whatever that was worth. Hench was on a floating recliner in the middle of his climate-controlled indoor swimming facility; Kim and Ron were reduced to standing on the edge of the football-field-sized pool, hardly optimum conditions for piercing interrogation. A small flying servobot, little more than a camera, two arms and a propeller, buzzed over their heads with a pitcher of something, refilled Hench's glass, buzzed off.

He didn't offer them any.

"Not here about the tank, Mr. Hench." Kim had to shout to be heard above the music; some sort of dreadful surf-rock from the 1960s. It was painfully clear that Hench had only admitted them for his own twisted amusement.

"Well, since he brought it up –"

"Not here about the _tank, _Ron_!"_

"Aw, man…" Her husband fell sullenly silent.

Kim pressed on. "As I was saying, your company's branching out in some interesting directions."

"Don't know what you're talking about. Don't care." He took a sip from his drink. The music's volume automatically dropped whenever Hench had something to say. "I sold HenchCo two years ago."

"_Sold_ it? Why? I thought the supervillain equipment trade was a lucrative business!"

"Operative word: _was_." Hench clapped his hands twice; the music stopped. He paddled a little closer to the crimefighters. "Ever since your boyfriend there –"

"Ah, wait, '_husband'_-" Ron interjected.

"Boyfriend, husband, _whatever_. Since he went _Blue Light Special_ on us, all the villains that kept HenchCo solvent got out of the business. Pronto. I mean, you watch him pulverize Mr. and Mrs. Close Encounters, you realize you're better off trading the bad-guy routine for a job at Smarty Mart."

"Nothing wrong with a job at Smarty Mart." Ron was offended. "A lot of good people have been tempered by fire at Smarty Mart."

"Be that as it may," Hench continued, "the only villains still in the business don't need HenchCo. Mad scientists like Dementor and Electronique can make their own earthquake capsules and underwater howitzers. In fact, they prefer to. And then you've got people like that crook Shego, who have powers of their own."

"Maybe you don' t know it," Kim interrupted, " but Shego's back on the hero circuit. Brought Phobos and Deimos in when Global Justice couldn't."

Hench shrugged, unimpressed. "_I _could bring in those two lunatics. They're just a couple of failed cheerleaders with ideas above their station."

Ron counted their weapons off on his fingers as he spoke: "And Zodiac Gas. And cyberlasers. And subsonic disruptors." Neither he nor Kim had ever battled the twins, but what he'd seen of their work troubled him. Not because they were so powerful: they weren't. Because they were so _random_. That was the sort of thing that scared him.

He could deal with _powerful_. Insanity was another story.

Hench was still talking. "Shego's a phony. I know a con game when I see one. Ever see _A Wind-up Kumquat_?

"No." Kim was puzzled. "What's a wind-up kumquat? Some sort of gag gift? Practical joke?"

"It's a movie. A very artsy and prestigious movie about violence. See, the hero is a villain. Leader of a gang of villains. He bumps off this old lady, gets betrayed by his gang and thrown in the slammer. While he's there, the government brainwashes him to be a good guy. So everything looks _peachy_-_keen_. But down inside, he's still rotten." Hench had seen the picture as a teenager; it was one of the inspirations that led to HenchCo. "That's Shego. And probably Drakken too. Down inside, they're still rotten."

"You should read the novel," Ron said, surprising both Hench and Kim. "The movie left out the last chapter. The one where the villain reforms. On his own. Without brainwashing or coercion. _That's_ Shego. _And_ Drakken. They've had enough evil. They're trying to do something better with their lives."

Hench favored Ron with some savagely sarcastic applause. "_Hoo_-ray. _Huzz_-ah. I'm afraid I'm not much on reading. Or noble oratory. _Agony County: The Next Generation's_ on in ten. It's about time for you two to go."

Kim threw one final question at him. "Who bought HenchCo?"

"Who knows? It was all done through channels. Somebody with money."

"Have a good day, Mr. Hench."

A silent glare. Another sip of his drink. "Don't step on any _mines_ on your way out."

A servobot saw them to the door.

They hadn't been gone five minutes before Hench pulled out his cell-phone. "Yeah, this is Jack Hench. You took that bankrupt company off my hands, so I'm doin' ya a favor. Kim Possible and that ninja punk she married are back. Asking questions. It's never a good thing when crimefighters are asking questions. Even _ex_-crimefighters."

"What's that to me?" The nasally voice on the other end seemed unconcerned. "I'm not doing anything illegal."

In the background someone yelled "Hey, boss, are we gonna need the dynamite? 'Cause it won't fit in the case with the sulphuric acid."

"Wait just a minute," said the voice. A second later Hench overheard "Can't you see I'm on the _phone_? Deal with it."

Another second passed. "OK, I'm back. Thanks for the info, Hench." There was the dull thump of a distant explosion. "Gotta run."

Hench put the phone away. In twenty minutes he'd forgotten all about the incident, entranced by the sad tale of America's favorite soap opera characters.

Until the laser beam seared his earlobe and destroyed the TV. He spun around, drew his stungun. The laser flared again; he flung the red-hot weapon away with a yowl of pain.

Two young women stood in the doorway. "Hello –"

"Jack. Remember-"

"us?"

"How'd you get in here? Guards! _Guards_!"

"No guardbots, Jack. We destroyed the –"

"- central computer –"

"- on the way up."

"Whaddaya want? Money? I got money. Let's talk."

"Who won –"

"-the _tank_, Jack?"

"Ah, names are confidential. It was on the entry form."

"A tank would be _fun_."

"We don't think you ever gave _anyone_ a tank."

"You're a _spoilsport_, Jack."

"A _cheater_."

They came closer.

Hench backed up, his fists clenched, ready to brawl. "Come on, then. You think I won't hit a girl?"

"You won't hit _these_ girls."

"What are ya gonna do, Zodiac me? Forty-eight hours as a virgin." Even in jeopardy, the idea made him chuckle. "Big deal. You're not super-criminals. You're _jokes_."

"We're out of Zodiac Gas."

"We had a _lot_ of fun in Upperton."

"But the gas isn't our only weapon. Just our _favorite_ weapon."

"Because it's _funny_."

"Lasers aren't funny. Neither are subsonics."

"One cuts you into hamburger –"

"—the other leaves you a bag of boneless mush."

"Nothing funny about _that_," they chanted in unison.

Hench had backed up against the wall.

"You think we're _stupid_, Jack. We're not stupid."

"We're _crazy_. Big difference. We want our _tank_, Jack."

Looking into their slightly unfocused eyes, noting their lopsided smiles, Jack Hench couldn't shake that scene in _A Wind-Up Kumquat_. The one where the gang of hoodlums has the old drunk cornered under the bridge. And he starts to sing. Maybe singing makes the pain hurt less.

"My country tis of thee," Jack Hench tunelessly bellowed, "Sweet land of liberty –" He swung at the nearest twin.

A deep thrum shook the building. Windows burst in a rain of glass.

And then there was silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Living with the Ancients _by Blood Ceremony; _Barbaro (ma non troppo)_ by Present; _Sieben_ by In Extremo. Hail to shuffle play.

* * *

The VTOL hissed through the night skies, landed just outside Jack Hench's mansion; Shego leaped out, poised for action. According to Dr. D.'s tracking data, Phobos and Deimos were here somewhere. She adjusted her gas-mask and looked cautiously around. The mansion and the grounds were illuminated, at least; no one was going to sneak up on her in the darkness.

Of course, the twins didn't have to sneak up on you. They preferred to use their gas because the results amused them, but they had long-range weapons as well. _Boy, did they ever._ She grimaced, remembering the pitched battle of the week before. Someone must have masterminded their escape from the supervillain loonybin; they were too deranged to have managed it this quickly themselves. Which meant this was probably a red herring, a decoy. It didn't matter; she could only work with what she had. Get the twins back in their padded cells, and go from there.

The front door had been opened by force, never a good sign. She went in, her nerves taut, her finely tuned senses in overdrive. Servobots and guardbots lay inertly scattered throughout the opulent home; they'd been clever enough to immediately find the main computer and disable it.

She was on the second floor when she heard the familiar, unexpected sound outside. Kim Possible's weird little car thingie, flying in to land beside her jet. Not Possible anymore. She was married to Stoppable now. Had a little girl, she recalled from a _Weekly Orb_ interview. Poor kid had a goofy name; she couldn't remember it, but she remembered that her father had come up with it. That figured.

If she and Dr. D. ever had any kids, he wasn't getting anywhere near their names. She'd make sure of that. Not that it was on the agenda. First she had to clear her name. Her children would have parents they could look up to. Not like her drunken dad and do-nothing mother. Parents the world recognized as heroes.

The Stoppables weren't in the crime-busting business any longer. Hadn't been for over a year. And yet there they were, both of them, wearing gas filters not unlike her own. Kim was talking into her wrist communicator, no doubt with their computer guy, Wade something.

Her husband was looking something up on his cell phone, probably coordinates or other important information. It was very clear that they weren't here on a social call.

Kim looked up; Shego was certain their eyes had met. She dropped the curtain as if it had shocked her. Stood there, her back against the wall, her heart hammering. It wasn't _fair_. This was _her_ job now. This was her chance to _redeem_ herself. To show the whole world that she was a _hero_. Like her brothers had been, before the Old Ones' horror claimed them.

Like Kim and Ron Stoppable.

If the Stoppables returned to crimefighting, she'd be nothing more than a footnote.

Drakken's voice, small and tinny, crackled in her mini-earphone: "What's going on? I'm monitoring some wild biochemical responses here."

"Nothing's going on. I'm fine, Dr. D." Why did _they_ have to get involved? Why didn't they stay home and look after their rugrat, like good parents? She could handle this on her own. "Never better."

Her fists were clenched so hard they hurt.

Out in the yard, Kim's eyes narrowed. Had the second floor curtain moved? It was hard to tell in this artificial light. "Wade, are you sure about this? We were here a couple of hours ago and there was nothing." _Nothing but humiliation_, she thought. _It would have served Hench right if we'd left him to the twins._

"You bet. They're in there somewhere. I've got a fix on the frequency of their cybertelepathic implants."

"Shego's here somewhere, too. Her jet's in the front yard."

"That's not a bad thing," Wade replied, cheerily. "Big change from the old days."

Ron was studying something on his phone. "KP, this is awful. Awful, awful, awful. Oh, _man_, it's bad."

"What is it? Live newsfeed? Is something going down?"

"No, it's this _fanfiction_ site. There's a story on here where you get mindswapped, and I'm deceived by the mindswapper, and you break up with me, except it's not really you, and it's all just –" He was overcome with emotion; a tear glistened in one eye.

She frowned. "This is no time to read that stuff. Focus on the mission!"

He put the phone away, wiped his eyes, blew his nose, composed himself.

They approached the front door with care. Shego was probably inside; if there were any traps, she would have already deactivated them, but it paid to be cautious, regardless. Both the Stoppables were thinking about the Lorwardian invasion; Shego had been an invaluable member of their team.

There had been some very dark events thereafter, but those days were long behind them. Now she was on their side. Someone they could trust.

On the second floor, the emerald harlequin had discovered the control centre of Hench's mansion. The central computer was beyond repair, as she'd expected. Still, there were other things available. Nothing lethal; just something to slow them down.

_She_ was going to bring in the twins. They were _her_ adversaries. _Her_ archfoes. _I'm starting to think like Hego_, she realized with a jolt. _Need to finish this quick and get back to the gazuntite heist. There's money in that_.

"Shego," came her husband's voice, somewhat peeved, "what are you doing? Your microcam's off. I can't see where you are."

"Sorry," she said, adjusting the security controls. They'd just been shut off, not smashed. "I must have hit it by accident." She grabbed the mouse, clicked on _First Floor_. "Give me just a second, here." The single word _ARMED_ glowed on the readout; satisfied, she left the room, turned the cam back on.

_What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him_, she thought, not for the first time.

It shouldn't hurt the Stoppables either. Not much, anyway.

She made her way to the next floor. Somewhere up ahead, not far beyond the elevator shaft, she could hear someone groaning.

Kim and Ron had not quite made it to the stairway when the red lights began to flash and the first steel tentacle snaked from the wall to clamp around Kim's ankle. More angry than frightened, she pulled out her laser lipstick and sliced the thing off; two more emerged, grabbed Ron's wrists even as he turned around to help, drawing him tightly to the wall. Two more lashed out to immobilize Kim; a third plucked the laser from her fingers.

Still more clamped around their ankles, wrapped around their waists.

A canned voice rang out: "_Congratulations, intruders! You have been immobilized by the Watchdog Electronic Alarm System, Model 7733519. Please do not struggle. The Watchdog Electronic Alarm System is inescapable. Submit and await the authorities. This has been a public service announcement from the Watchdog Electronic Alarm System, which is available every day at your local Super Smarty Mart. Installation fees are extra_."

"Here's a public service announcement from the _Ronman_." He was engulfed in blue light; Kim averted her eyes from its brilliance. "_We don't have time for this!"_ With a mighty flexing of his muscles he broke free, smashed a hole through the wall and yanked out handful after handful of cables, circuits and servomotors. The Watchdog Electronic Alarm System spluttered, whirred and released its grip on its captives, its remaining tentacles dangling limp and powerless.

"That's what you have insurance for," he said, surveying the damage. "Come on, KP, let's go on up."

Upstairs, Shego had managed to free Jack Hench from the wreckage of his entertainment center.

"Deimos knocked the freakin' _wall_ down on me," growled the former president of HenchCo. Bruised and battered, still unsteady on his feet, he leaned against what was left of the wall to support himself. "Had me pinned. When I came to, they got on either side of me and started that _stereo_ thing they do. Man. 'Where's the _tank_, Jack? Where's the _tank_, Jack?' Worse than the Chinese Water Torture."

"Yeah, well, where _are_ they?" She heard footsteps coming down the hall at a quick pace. Not the twins; they walked in creepy unison. So much for the delay tactics. "Quick. I really need to know."

"Nice bedside manner, hon." A dark scowl, a knowing smirk. "Lotta interest in the wounded victim."

"They, uh, they must face justice."

Hench heard the footsteps, too. "Don't wanna split the reward, huh? Ever see _A Wind-Up Kumquat_?"

Enraged, realizing her chance to do this solo was slipping away, she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him, howling "_Where are they, Hench? Where'd they go?_"

In her ear the still, small voice of her panicked husband was trying vainly to rein her in. From behind her came shocked cries. "_Shego_! Let him _go_!" Hands grabbed her, pulled her away from him. "What's _wrong_ with you? He's _hurt_!"

There was a colossal concussion that nearly knocked them all off their feet; the whole building shook. From the grounds outside came a mechanical roaring. The four of them rushed to the window to see the dark, bulky shape barreling toward the open highway.

"Must have found the sub-basement garage. I'm surprised they were smart enough to hotwire it," Hench muttered.

As it drove away, Kim turned to Hench. "Are you all right?" Her concern was genuine. She'd inherited that from her mother.

"I'm fine. No thanks to Mrs. Drakken."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Go get those idiots before they really hurt somebody."

"Come on, Shego," Kim said, quietly, "we can follow them by air. Wherever they're headed."

"Some advice, Greenie," Hench sneered. "Act more like the gentle rain and less like a water main. I got nothin' for people who treat me like dirt. Not even"- and the disdain in his voice was devastating - "superheroes."

The green woman refused to meet his gaze. Murmured something into the tiny microphone at her collar, shut off her earphone/microcam as well.

Hench went to the shattered window, looked out over his desecrated domain. "Insurance'll cover it."

Ron broke the awkward silence. "So they've got a _tank_?" he nervously asked.

"No," said Hench, still looking out the window. "Not exactly."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine .Otherwise, yeah, I own it. This chapter's soundtrack: _You Make Me Real _by Brandt Brauer Frick_; Force Majeure _and_ Encore _by Tangerine Dream; _Pompeii_ by Triumvirat. Those clever Germans!

* * *

The semi headed into Middleton in the early morning hours, turned at Science Lane and Tech Avenue, heading for the Space Center. Back in the trailer, the man in black took out a phone, made a call.

"It is two-forty a.m. Are you ready?"

His peculiar visage grew ever darker with every word of the response, whatever it might have been.

"Stop. No one outside of Bedlam talks like that. _Stop_. _You_ speak, the other one _listens_. You're on the _phone_! All I'm getting is _every other word_!"

A pause.

"I'm not going to _guess_ which one I'm talking to. You probably aren't sure yourselves. I say, it's two-forty-_three_ a.m. Are you ready? Do you have a plan, a design in mind?"

He listened, nodded.

"Excellent. No, I don't want all the details. Here is what I want, the next step in the plan: when Shego shows up, and she will, use the _gas_ on her. Not the _laser_, not the _disruptor_. The _gas_. Do you understand? You _like_ the gas, you _invented_ the gas, so _use_ it. Here's your chance."

The truck hit a bump in the road. So did the plan.

"You're _out_ of Zodiac Gas? That's impossible. The tanks were _full_… No, I haven't been watching the news. I've had this _foolproof diabolical scheme_ to suss out, you know. Criminal masterminds don't get a lot of free time. Comes with the territory."

There was another, longer pause; his assistants grew concerned. He tended to take his frustrations out on them.

"_You used it all up?_ You were supposed to _lay low_ until _now_! … Fun, yes, of course, lotsa _fun_. I'm sure it's just been far-freakin'-_hilarious_. Listen to me. If you mess this up – Listen. There's a padded cell with your names on it at the Super-Villain Asylum. If you want to stay out of it and keep having _fun_, you'll find some way to bring me Shego. Some method that _doesn't_ involve _bumping her off,_ or breaking every bone in her body, or any of the other cheery amusements you clowns enjoy. I want her _in one piece_. Understand? Tell me you _understand_."

The answer seemed to calm him down a degree or two; the henchmen collectively sighed in relief.

"When she's down, call me and I'll tell you what to do from there… The _Stoppables_? Yes, I knew they were involved. I have connexions."

He listened a moment, and spoke two words.

"Finish them."

* * *

Dr. James Possible had no idea that his daughter and son-in-law had been recruited for a secret mission, of course. He didn't know that his granddaughter was with the other set of grandparents. He had heard nothing about the wave of super-vandalism in Upperton. He didn't realize it was almost three o'clock in the morning.

His infamously one-track mind was focused completely on a single thing: the sleek spacecraft he was fine-tuning, alone in the Middleton Space Center.

The _Copernicus_ was the next generation of manned space exploration: once its antigravity accelerators reached full charge, it could outrace the _Kepler_ series without any sign of the dangerous phlogiston resonance that made the _Kepler's_ quantum drive unsafe in the atmosphere. The _Copernicus_ would be capable, at full speed, of circling the globe in under a minute, at any altitude, without even a sonic boom to mark its passage. Possible was making the final adjustments to it, wanting it at its absolute peak when it lifted off on its maiden voyage at noon tomorrow.

He backed out of the ship, sealed the access panel, looked at the clock for the first time in hours and realized it would be noon _today_.

"Three a.m! Anne's going to _kill_ me!"

A voice came from behind him, an evilly nasal sound: "I wouldn't worry about that, Dr. Possible. You've got more immediate problems."

"What th-" He spun around and stood aghast. Not because of the pistol his unwelcome visitor had trained on him. He'd been held at gunpoint before. "Great golden _gooseberries_, that _nose_!"

If the man in black was offended, he gave no sign. Quite the opposite. "Ah, you recognize your own shortcomings in the _face_, so to speak, of true _greatness_."

"Uh, come again?"

"The nose is the noblest organ in the human anatomy, sir." The gun never wavered. "What would life be without the sense of smell?"

"That's actually due to the _olfactory_ _lobe_ –"

"I know all about that, thank you. Ever been a hostage before?"

"I've been held hostage by villains that would put you to shame."

"Never mind that. Start walking. We're going to the control center of this bay."

"Who are you? How'd you get past the security system? High-voltage stun rays –"

"The whole world will know who I am soon enough." It was one of his favorite lines; just the right degree of mystery and menace. Sometimes he practiced it in front of the mirror. Very shortly he would be able to retire it. "My _advent_, so to speak, was prearranged. You may not believe this, but there are people working here who can be bought."

"At the Space Center? Stuff and nonsense. Scientists are above all that."

"I didn't buy a scientist."

"Oh, well, of course there's some criminal element in the _plebeian_ sector –"

"I don't like the tone of your voice."

"Once my daughter finds out what's going on, you'll have a lot less to like."

"She and her monkey-powered hubby will be busy elsewhere tonight. Along with their erstwhile replacements, the Lipskys. That, too, has been prearranged. Nothing has been left to chance."

If the man in black expected Dr. Possible to be frightened, he was disappointed. "You might as well surrender now, pal. It'll save on wear and tear later. Together they defeated the whole Lorwar –"

"The Lorwardian attack force, yes, yes, I know. The story grows tedious through constant repetition."

The sign on the door read

ROCKET REPAIR BAY #9

SECURITY OFFICE

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

The man in black produced a magnetic key, opened the door. It had cost him quite a bit of money. It didn't matter; when the plan was fulfilled, he wouldn't miss it. He sat down at the control desk, still covering MrDrP with the gun.

"And it wouldn't matter if the whole 101st Airborne Division was on my heels, _pal_. There is no surrender in my future." He surveyed the panel before him, turned a knob. The massive doors on both sides of the bay rolled slowly upward; a semi pulled in, disgorging henchmen. They began fastening tractor cables to the _Copernicus_.

The mystery madman continued to gloat.

"You see, I have sniffed out every eventuality. There is absolutely nothing that can clog up my scheme. While I am engaged in removing this craft from the premises, my operatives will be unfurling the other half of the plan many miles from –"

With a deafening crash, a gigantic amphibious troop carrier smashed its way through the far wall, losing pieces of itself in the process. The henchmen froze, unsure of what to do. Even the man in black was surprised. Not surprised enough to drop his gun, though.

The carrier's hatch swiveled, popped open.

"Gee," said Phobos and Deimos, "that was _scary_. We weren't sure we could _do_ that. It's not a _tank_, but it's the closest thing Hench _had_ to one."

"We don't think he _ever_ had a tank."

"He's a _liar_."

"_Killjoy_."

They laughed together at some secret joke.

The evil mastermind slammed his fist on a button, picked up a microphone. His voice, almost a despairing whine, filled the repair bay. "_Why_ are you _here_?"

The twins looked around for the source of the voice, didn't find it, shrugged in unison. "Didn't you say 'Middleton Space Center, three a.m?' It's three a.m. And we're here. Right on schedule." They smiled beatifically at the _Copernicus_, emitted an _Oooo_ of awe. "Is that a _spaceship_? Can we _ride_ in it?"

"Phobos and Deimos? _Those_ are your operatives?" MrDrP sounded almost amused. "Hard to find good help these days, isn't it?"

The man ignored him. "I said anywhere _but_ the Middleton Space Center! Weren't you _listening_?"

"No," Deimos answered, not in the least apologetically, "not really."

Phobos was playing with her hair, coiling it around her finger. "You were _going on_. It was boring. By the way, Shego and the Stoppables are right behind us."

"Just f-"

There was the shriek of a jet overhead .

"-y-"

The Sloth glided in at one end of the bay; a green aircraft descended at the other end.

"-i."

"_Stop doing that_!" the man in black bellowed. "Do something about our enemies. And _remember what I told you_. One piece. Unhurt."

With surprising acrobatic skill, the twins leaped into action.

The man's orders reverberated through the giant building. "Get the spaceship into the trailer. Now." His scheme was in danger of falling apart, right in front of his nose. "Two of you get up here, take the hostage to the truck." He switched off the mike, turned to Dr. Possible. "This is what I get for recruiting lunatics."

"Is this the bit," asked the scientist, "where you reveal your malevolent plot?"

"That'll have to wait until we get to the lair," said the villain, shoving the astrophysicist into the arms of his burly minions. "I've got a world to dominate." Locking the door behind them, he returned to the chair. Below them, men on mini-tractors were desperately trying to get the _Copernicus_ into the semi before the storm broke.

Without warning Phobos' cyberlaser flared as the criminal crew scattered for cover; she rocked her head back and forth, cutting through the Sloth at a dozen different angles. A second later the beam found the little vehicle's fuel tank; there was an explosion that scattered smoldering debris across the bay.

The cyborg looked up, a satisfied smile on her boyish face, and gave the thumbs-up sign.

Restrained by the master villain's underlings, James Possible could only cry out his daughter's name, over and over, in horror and dismay. They joined the stolen _Copernicus_ in the trailer; the doors closed, the truck hurtled from the scene of destruction.

So MrDrP didn't see his daughter come swinging down from overhead, kicking the surprised twin across the bay. "That's why we've got remote controls," snarled Kim, without a moment's pause in her attack. "You'll pay for the damage." Another kick, another punch, never giving her adversary time to use her weapon. In under a minute she had pinned the cyborg girl down, forcefully shoving her head to one side, preventing a direct shot from her laser eye. The beam lashed out again and again, doing nothing but cutting holes in the floor and wall.

"_What is going on_?"

Phobos, twisting in Kim's strong grip, desperate to escape, gibbered in a strange, halting fashion, making no sense at all to the crimefighter: "You – do – to – My – will –your – to – "

"_Pieces_!" shrieked Deimos from behind them, bringing a huge wrench down on Kim's head. They'd been too close together to use her subsonic disruptor.

The wrench worked just as well.

An instant later a bolt of green plasma caught the twin in the back, sending her flying across the room. Phobos shoved Kim's prostrate body to one side, stood up, laser flaring. Shego spun, jumped, dodging the beam, coming down behind the twin, smashing her to the ground with a volley of punches.

_No need to keep using the plasma,_ she thought. _I might need it later. The gloves only have so much. And these idiots are pretty easy to beat; knock one unconscious and you're done. Buy one, get one free._

The cyborg twisted away from her, growled like an animal, turned to blast her tormentor out of existence. Deimos' disruptor antenna swiveled toward the figure in green and black, who stood like a guardian angel over the fallen redhaired woman.

"You're _mean_," the twins screamed in unison. "We _hate_ you!"

"No! _No_!" roared the amplified voice, shaking the bay with its volume. "Don't _hurt_ her! I _need_ her! Get out of the way! " The twins glanced at each other, somersaulted toward the exits.

In the control room, an evil hand reached out toward a switch, to be stayed by a crash as the locked door came off its hinges, went flying down the hallway. The blue light of Mystical Monkey Power illuminated the room.

"Whoever you are, whatever you're doing," Ron commanded, "_stop_."

The man in black spun in his chair, brought up the pistol. Ron had the ability to dodge the shot. Or catch it. Material weapons were nothing to a master of Mystical Monkey Power.

But he was still human. Still subject to emotions. To surprise. Shock. Even nausea.

He felt all those things looking at the terrible, malformed face of his unknown enemy. And hesitated. Just a moment.

There was a silenced hiss from the gun. Ron staggered back, fell to the floor, his aura reduced to meager flickerings. Without a second glance, his adversary turned back to the control panel, switched the security system on.

High-voltage stun rays, Dr. P. had said.

A minute later he switched off the system, stepped over the half-conscious, weakly groaning body in the doorway, strode down to the bay. The situation was well in hand. _Despite_ his flunkies.

The twins were waiting for him, standing over the unconscious forms of Kim and Shego, furious, raving. "Cut them into chunks."

"Shatter their bones like glass."

"Strangle them."

"Shoot them."

"Bullies. Brutal. Out of _control_."

"No _fun_."

"No fun at _all_."

The man in black took charge. "Get Shego. We'll take the jet."

Immediately the twins forgot their rage. "Can _we_ fly it?"

"We've never flown a _jet_ before."

"No. I'll fly it. I want to get to the lair in one piece." He stroked Shego's hair. "Very soon, we will own the world. Then you can crash as many jets as you want."

A few minutes later the VTOL lifted off. Kim and Ron lay motionless, silent, in the empty building.

* * *

Many miles away, Cinnabar's grandparents were awakened by the little girl, standing at their bedside, crying. She'd had another bad dream.

This one was about her parents.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Living with the Ancients _by Blood Ceremony_; Hanna _soundtrack by The Chemical Brothers; _Best Of_ A Flock of Seagulls. Long live shuffle play.

* * *

Drakken was quickly reaching the point where concern becomes panic. He clicked switches over and over with no result. There had been no contact with Shego since that _outburst_ at Hench's place.

The last thing he'd said to her was "Heroes don't act like that." Not to hurt or condemn her. To save her from public embarrassment. At one time he had sincerely believed nothing was difficult for her; he knew now that he had been sincerely wrong. Even in her Team Go days she had never been a model superhero. Stepping into the position vacated by her greatest rival was proving to be a struggle.

The last thing she'd said to him, in a sharp, stubborn whisper, had been "Possible and Monkeyboy are here. We'll talk about it later."

Then she'd turned off the suit monitors. He had no idea where she was, what she was doing, if she was alive and well –

He snapped the switches furiously back and forth, growling. Still nothing. He should have gone with her. Should have never accepted the position of "ground control." They were married. He should have put his foot down.

"Yeah, right," he resignedly muttered to no one. That would have led to nothing good, he knew.

But was this any better?

The blurting beep of the computer startled him. A hit on the website. Someone needed Shego's help.

Someone was out of luck.

He looked at the monitor: a live message.

_Dr. Lipsky? _

He typed a simple "Yes."

_This is Gene Stoppable. Ron Stoppable's father. _

He wracked his brain, trying to recall where he'd heard that name. When it came to him, he felt like kicking himself. Why did his genius refuse to store that simple bit of information?

Gene Stoppable was still typing.

_Is your wife on a mission?_

Wondering where this was leading, he again typed "Yes."

The typing hesitated._ "Does the term Gesundheit mean anything to you, beyond the usual? Are my son and his wife with her?" _

The words shocked him to his core._ "What do you know?"_

"_My granddaughter had a bad dream. She has certain talents and abilities she inherited from her parents; the dream was so detailed that I had to check with you. I think they're all in danger."_

He typed a single word in response_. "Spill."_

Gene Stoppable did.

* * *

_Kim was in bed, trying to sleep, a task made impossible by her husband, who, for some reason, kept repeating her name and gently shaking her. "Kim…Kim, Kim Possible…" _

_Her response, repeatedly, was the age-old declaration "Not tonight, honey. I have a headache. A headache. A –"_

"Headache," she said, looking straight up at the distant ceiling of the rocket repair bay, Ron kneeling beside her, apprehension in his eyes. No, it wasn't Ron; gradually she realized it was Drakken. Lipsky. Dr. Lipsky. He didn't call himself Drakken anymore. She sat up just a little, touched the egg-sized knot just behind her left ear gingerly, yanked her hand away.

The blue man examined the damage. "Somebody was trying to kill you, I'd say. Professional opinion."

She slowly got to her feet. "Yeah. I so inspire that in some people. This time it was Phobos. Or Deimos. Not sure which is which."

"With them, it doesn't matter. You might have a concussion."

"I don't have time for that. They got my dad." In the distance they could hear sirens, growing louder. Someone had alerted the fire department to the still-burning remnants of what had been the Sloth. One _more_ reason to have insurance. They did. The Sloth would rise again, but not tonight. " – er – Lipsky –"

"You might as well call me Drakken. The only people who call me Dr. Lipsky are the scientific contingent. And Mom, of course. Usually when she's mad."

"How'd you find us? Homing signal in Shego's suit?"

"I wish. That's a long story. Short version: your father-in-law contacted me. Cinnabar dreamed about this."

"She's got Ron's power." Where _was_ Ron? He'd taken off in another direction as soon as they arrived. "Somebody in the control tower," he'd shouted, as they jumped from the Sloth onto the roof of the rocket repair bay, leaving the vehicle to land on autopilot. "Caught a glimpse of them as we circled. I'll check it out." She hadn't seen him again.

"Well, she has an oneiromantic talent, too." She stared at him blankly. "Dream premonitions. Visions." Suddenly he was all business. It didn't surprise Kim; she'd seen him switch gears like that quite often, back in the day. "Where's Shego?"

"She was here. We came in together."

"The jet's gone."

"Ron's gone, too. He said something about the control booth."

Drakken headed for the stairwell; Kim simply fired her grappling hook. "Showoff," grumbled the blue man, watching her ascend on the rope. Some things didn't change.

An instant later he heard her cry out. A terrible, ragged sound. A name. There was a time when that might have brought him pleasure. Victory. Now it sent chills down his spine.

He began to run.

At the top he saw Kim, kneeling beside the fallen body of her husband. She looked up at Drakken, tears streaming down her cheeks, her lower lip quivering. He'd never seen her so completely broken. Not even when he'd captured her back in the bad old days, at the climax of the L'il Diablo caper. "He's – he's –"

"No, he isn't." Drakken knelt down, checked the young man's pulse. A little fast, but strong and steady.

A small dart jutted from his stomach. If it had been anyone else, Kim would have seen it. It was Ron, and the fears she thought she'd left behind had risen up to freeze her in her tracks.

The doctor yanked it out, sniffed at it. Nothing deadly. Tranquillizer dart. Someone had come there intending to leave his victims alive.

Or capture his prey alive.

Drakken snapped open the pouch on his belt, snapped an ammonia capsule, waved it under Ron's nose. The result was immediate. "_Great googly moogly!"_ He jerked away, slapped the capsule from Drakken's hand. "That's _awful_!"

"You bet."

He stood up, staggered, would have fallen if Kim hadn't caught him. He answered her shocked expression with a weak but sincere smile. "It's not that bad. Shot me right in the stomach. Man, it hurt. Hurts."

"Who?" Her eyes narrowed. "_Who shot you_?"

"I don't know. He was wearin' a mask. I _hope_ it was a mask. Otherwise he won't be hard to spot in a crowd, that's for sure."

"They've got Dad."

Drakken finally voiced his fears. "I think they've got Shego too," he said.

* * *

Shego woke up in shackles. That didn't surprise her. In fact, it was a cliche. At one time she would have simply blasted her way out. It wasn't that easy any more. Chained like this, there was no way to activate the gloves.

The speakers in the ceiling crackled, popped, prelude to an announcement. She sighed. Must be time for the ultimatum.

"Up and at'em, sleepyhead," the voice cackled.

"That's the best you've got? Dr. D. could do better than that on his worst day."

"Dr. D's not in the world-domination business anymore. I am."

"Let's get _this_ straight: he's _Dr. Drew Lipsky_ to _you, _whoever you are. Inventor of the telepathic amplifier. A genius. Not Dr. Drakken, _definitely_ not Dr. D. Comprende?"

Sardonic laughter resounded from the speakers.

"Spare me the yuks, Bozo. What's your diabolical plan, already?"

"Whatever it is," came an oddly familiar voice, "you won't get away with it."

By craning her neck to the left as far as she could, she was able to catch a glimpse into an adjoining room, where a man in a labcoat was also in chains. She recognized him immediately. Kimmie's dad. The rocket scientist.

"Hey, Dr. Possible! Stay calm; this guy's no professional. We'll be out very shortly."

Their captor's response was terse. "I doubt that."

"So how about that _plan_?" asked Mr. Dr.P. "Designs on the world's nasal spray market?"

She wondered what that cryptic comment was supposed to mean. Definitely intended as an insult, that was obvious.

"It _is_ time for an explanation. I have obtained –"

"_Stolen_," she interrupted. Just to see what would happen.

With audible annoyance, the voice continued. "-_Obtained_ the world's supply of the active ingredient in sneezing powder. Through certain holding companies, I have also gained control of the Kleenex plantations around the world. The entire tissue crop is in my hands."

_Always assumed it was some sort of processed paper product_, Shego thought, testing her bonds again. _You certainly learn a lot in this business. Whether you want to or not_.

The shackles weren't about to yield.

"With this silent, superspeed missile – "

"Spacecraft," Mr. Dr.P broke in.

"_Rocket_," the voice compromised, "I will saturate the upper atmosphere with activated gazuntite. The sternutatious cataclysm that results will drive Kleenex sales through the roof. And the world will have to come to me for it." There was a pause. "The nasal spray idea's not bad, either."

Shego gasped in awe. "That's _brilliant_."

The voice brightened. "Do you really think so?"

"No. I'm lying. It's asinine. Even Dr. D. couldn't find a pole long enough not to touch it with."

"_Your husband's opinion_," snapped the voice, "_is not important to me_."

"So where do we fit into all this? I'm guessin' Dr. Possible's just Kimmie repellent." She glanced at him again, trying to catch his eye, to show him everything was going to be all right, but the scientist was looking down at the floor, the picture of defeat.

And suddenly a horrible possibility came to her.

"He was a fortuitous discovery, yes."

"So Kim's _ok_?"

The voice disregarded her question. "As for you, well… if I took over the power grid of the whole eastern seaboard, it wouldn't be enough to weaponize all this gazuntite. It would take forever. Dishonor House has the world's biggest gazuntite processor, and it can only activate a few grams at a time. Making sneezing powder is difficult business."

"Then your plan's a bust." Shego shrugged in the shackles. "So why not let us go and turn yourself in?"

"Because I have a power source that can get the job done."

"What?"

"Not what. Who."

A holographic projector came to life; she instantly recognized the satellite footage projected before her. A plasma vortex that filled the sky, with a tiny green and black figure at its center.

She laughed bitterly. "_That's_ what this is about?"

"Your plasma energy opened a trans-dimensional gate for your friends."

"_They weren't my friends_." Anger twisted her features. "They _forced_ me to do it. And it almost _killed_ me."

"That doesn't matter. If you can produce that much energy, weaponizing my gazuntite should be child's play." Silence. "Do it and I'll let you both go free."

"I can't."

"You _will_."

"No, I _can't_. Understand? It's impossible." The confession came hard. "I – I don't _have_ that power anymore. All right? There, I've said it. Satisfied?"

"Do you think I'm a _fool_? I watched you fight in the Space Center," roared the voice. "I saw you smash Deimos with a plasma blast. I've seen you fighting other crooks on the news. _Don't lie to me_."

"It's just gloves. These gloves. They're plasma generators. But they _can't_ do what you want. And neither can I."

"You _can_ do it. You _will_ do it."

"Look at the gloves. Examine them."

If he heard her at all, he gave no sign. "Ever heard of Bortel's compliance chip?"

"I've worn it. Bring it out, if you don't believe me. Use it. You'll see."

"I have no intention of using it on you. I plan to put it _in_ you. If you can weaponize my gazuntite, you will. If you can't, then I have a new flunky in my ranks. One less enemy to concern me. It's a win-win situation. _Twins_!"

Phobos and Deimos entered the room.

"I'm not afraid of you," she snarled defiantly, and knew it was a lie.

"You should be," one of them purred, running her finger along Shego's cheek. She nipped at it, but missed. Without warning the other twin slapped her. "You're cruel. Brutal. But we'll fix that." They smiled their crazy smiles. "We'll fuse the chip circuit –"

"-directly to your frontal lobes."

"No removal."

"No escape."

One of them produced an electric carving knife; the other, an eight-inch hand auger. "We _like_ doing –"

"- brain surgery. Look what –"

"- a good job –"

"-we did on each other!"

They giggled.

Shego violently struggled against her bonds. "Y – You're _joking_."

"Really?" thundered the voice of her captor. "Do you feel like laughing?"

"They – they can't –" She looked into their dedicated, eager, insane faces and knew they could. And would.

"Using real surgical tools –" Deimos began.

"-takes all the _sport_ out of it," finished Phobos.

"Don't worry –"

"-the human brain can't feel pain. Did you ever see our _video_?"

And then, in that frightful unison: "When _he's_ done with you, then you can be _ours_ for a while. You won't be _mean _anymore. We will pet you and feed you and teach you to fetch the newspaper." They looked at each other in excitement. "And maybe some _other_ tricks as well."

Sweat ran down her brow, into her eyes.

Their unseen, unknown captor pronounced the ultimatum she'd been waiting for. "Weaponize the gazuntite. Or I let them go to work. _Your choice_."

But it wasn't. Not at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: _Symphonie Pour Le Jour Où Brûleront Les Cités_ by Art Zoyd; _Killer_ by Alice Cooper. Shuffle play, hoorah, hurray.

* * *

They were scaling a long-abandoned gantry in a part of the Space Center scheduled, someday, for demolition. Back in Rocket Repair Bay #9, military police swarmed, looking for clues. So far, all they had was a wrecked vehicle belonging to Kimberly Ann Stoppable.

At the apex, Drakken's hovercar awaited.

"This was supposed to be a _clandestine_ mission," Kim grumbled, not quite to herself. "No one was going to know we were involved. I mean, it was just about sneezing powder. _Sneezing powder_! How big a sitch could it _be_?"

Her husband scowled. "Not just sneezing powder. _Gazuntite_. "

"Ok, _pre_-sneezing powder."

"Global Justice thought it was big enough to drag us into it. Against our will." Ron hesitated, forged ahead. "At least it _started_ that way."

If she realized his point, she ignored it. "We go in, we find the stuff, we _get_ the stuff, we get out. Nothing to it. We should already be back home."

"Yes." Ron had never been more serious. "We should."

"Whoa," she snapped, still climbing, "don't take that tone with me, Ronald Stoppable."

"Yes, _please_ don't," begged an exasperated Drakken, "because I'd really rather not hear your petty squabbling all the way to – where _are_ we going, anyway?"

She shot her husband one more irritated glance, got Wade on the Kimmunicator. "Got anything for us?"

"Tell him to scan for wireless cybernetic communication," Drakken suggested. "That worked for me."

"Already on that, Dr. –ah – Lipsky," the young genius said. "Nothing. They must be covering their tracks. Unusual for those two."

Kim frowned. "They're working for someone else."

"That explains it. Who?'

"We don't know. Someone who needed a spaceship." An idea struck her. "Check for gravitational anomalies. The _Copernicus_ isn't a chemical rocket. Antigrav accumulators. Dad said they have to charge up before liftoff."

Wade typed something, stopped, concern on his face. "Look, Kim – you guys be careful, all right? You dropped out of this stuff for a year –"

The blue man lost his grip, let out a yelp of panic as he slipped down; like lightning, Ron swung down, gave him a hand.

"This climbing stuff is harder than it looks," said the doctor, looking fearfully at the ground far below. It hadn't seemed this difficult when he'd arrived, looking for Shego. In fact, he'd barely noticed the height. It just seemed like a good place to conceal the hovercar. He made a mental note to start thinking things through. It couldn't hurt.

Kim, provoked by Wade's comment, was unaware of the incident. "Are you saying we're rusty?"

"I'm _saying_ 'be careful.' That's all. No need to get snippy."

"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry.

"I _did_ have plans for this evening, you know." Wade's voice had developed just a hint of an edge. "Cancelled them to monitor this mission. To look out for you." He paused, considering his next words. "Why _did _you take this on? I thought you were _done_ with it."

"I don't know," she lied. "Global Justice asked us to," she evaded.

How could she let something as trivial as _fanfiction_ get under her skin? But someone's fictionalized portrayal of their last mission had left her depressed for a week. It had been so revealing, so troubling, so _final_. The last inevitable chapter of the adventures of Kim and Ron Stoppable.

For many people, that covert psychological attack could have been crippling, but Kim was a classic Type A personality. Competitive. Demanding. Unable to accept failure. Unable to admit defeat. When Global Justice had dangled an opportunity in front of her, she'd jumped at the chance to show that writer and the whole world that Kim and Ron Stoppable weren't things of the past, fit only for fanfiction fodder.

"Global Justice asked us to," she repeated. "It was no big."

It had been such a perfect mission, so clearly cut-and-dried. They'd recover the stinkin' gazuntite, bring in the stinkin' thieves, and be back home with their daughter in a few hours. Simple.

Except that she'd been knocked unconscious, her husband had been shot, her dad had been kidnapped and Shego was missing as well. Not quite the sitch she'd predicted.

She wished Ron had never discovered Fanfic-dot-com.

Whether Wade accepted her reasons or not, he didn't press the issue. " Phobos and Deimos seem ridiculous, I know, but if they've got someone guiding them –"

"Just another supervillain, Wade. No one special."

"They're crazy. Uninhibited. And they've got some dangerous weapons."

"So far their most dangerous weapon's been a monkey wrench." _And a tranquilizer gun_, she thought, and with that thought, the crushing terror she'd felt when she found Ron lying on the floor flooded up again within her. She steeled herself against it; there was no time now to be afraid.

But she was. It was just like it had been in Dementor's lair, with the Ron duplicates trying to kill them, with the horrors of an unknown dimension coming through the walls. Deep in her gut she was scared to death. Again.

"Gravitational anomalies, Wade," she ordered, to hide the fear. To keep the quaver from her voice.

Why hadn't she remembered how bad it was?

"Ahh!" Drakken exclaimed in relief. "About time!"

The hovercar was just ahead.

* * *

"Do anything else to her," shouted James Possible, "and you'll never get the _Copernicus_ off the ground."

"Who cares?" Phobos continued to work on Shego.

Engaged in helping her sister, Deimos added a single word: "Spoilsport."

The twins were shaving Shego's head, prepping her for the atrocity. No longer trying to struggle, the green woman morosely watched the growing pile of jet-black hair on the floor. Dyed, of course. Her encounter with the Old Ones had left it snow white. Very few people knew that. Just as very few people knew her powers were gone.

And some people evidently refused to accept that fact.

The whirr of electric clippers continued. They'd come at her with serrated steak knives at first, but her captor had vetoed that. Not to spare her pain, but to get the job done faster. She'd never been more relieved in her life.

Not that her future looked any brighter.

After all, she was the prisoner of someone who would trust these lunatics with knives for brain surgery, but not a haircut.

Possible shouted again, louder this time. "Do you hear me? If one more hair hits the floor, I'll make sure you can't liftoff. I designed the ship; I can do it. From here."

There was one word from the loudspeaker. "Stop."

"No," spat Deimos. "We don't want to."

"_What_?" The voice was surprised, even shocked.

"She's brutal. Vicious," added Phobos. "She _needs_ the compliance chip."

"Do not defy me. _Stop_!" demanded the voice; with a simultaneous sigh, the cyborgs put down their clippers, stepped back.

"Don't worry, Shego," shouted the astrophysicist, as confident and reassuring as a yelling man can be. "I've been in a tight squeeze a time or two myself. I know how to squeeze back."

She rolled her eyes and groaned in dismay, knowing just exactly where this was going. Kimmie's dad meant well, but he really needed to stick to his science books. Still, it would buy them a few more minutes. There had to be a way out of this mess.

If only she'd remembered to turn the suit sensors back on after the Hench episode. If only she hadn't allowed herself to get so angry, at Hench, at Kimmie and her monkeyboy, at Dr. D. At herself.

If only she could quit mentally retracing her blunders and come up with a plan. But it didn't seem to be happening. She strained against the shackles with all her considerable strength. Nothing.

"Has the chip been disassembled for cerebral installation yet," asked the voice, and added, quickly, "_Phobos_."

The twins looked at each other, disappointed to have been denied their usual dual response. "No," Phobos finally said, exasperation in her voice. "Not yet."

Beside her, Deimos silently mouthed the words in perfect synchronization.

Their unseen captor laughed. "Then put it on the _doctor_, of course."

The twins went into the other room, leaving Shego sadly, slowly shaking her head. _Saw that coming. _

Shortly Dr. Possible walked by her, the chip stuck to his forehead, his eyes locked, unblinking. "Dr. P! _Remember_!" she whispered as he went by, hoping he understood.

Phobos led him away; Deimos walked up to Shego, staring at her. "You look stupid without your hair. Stupid green girl."

"Ple-ease. A kid in _kindergarten_ could do better than that."

"Better than what, stupid green girl?"

"That goes double for both of you."

The cyborg's strangely crafty half-smile never changed.

"Did you stay behind just to _needle_ me?"

"No," she said, and suddenly, violently kicked Shego in the stomach. Watched her writhe in the restraints. "Cry for us, stupid green girl. Bully. Killjoy."

In agony, Shego glared at her tormentor, gasped out a retort. "I… don't cry… for _anyone_…"

"You _like_ to fight. You and the other girl, the redhead who hurt my sister. You _like_ to hurt people."

Shego had no answer. With a girlish laugh, the cyborg kicked her again.

"It's _fun_, isn't it? More fun than the Zodiac Gas." Deimos giggled as her disruptor antenna spun, pointed squarely in Shego's face. "You really _don't_ have your powers anymore, do you?"

Shego turned her head, closed her eyes, waiting for the final, fatal blast.

"We still have ours," Deimos said cheerfully, and skipped off after her sister.

In the center of the gigantic lair, aboard the _Copernicus_, an ominous figure in black supervised in silence as Mr. Dr. P. carefully connected a high-voltage conduit to the ship's mighty engines. "It converts electrons into anti-gravitons –" He froze, his mouth open, forming a word.

"He needs a name," Phobos helpfully supplied. "The chip's programmed responses require it."

"A name? Then let him call me," chortled the villain, "_Master_."

"It converts electrons into anti-gravitons, Master," the scientist repeated. "It wasn't through charging when you stole it, Master."

He guffawed. "That's beautiful. That's a work of art." In the midst of his victory, alarm seized him; he spun around, confronted Phobos. "_Where's your sister_?"

"You _can't_ send us back to the asylum. You're not our _master_." The cyborg's gaze was still quite insane, but no longer dizzy and unfocused. Something had changed. A purpose had been found. "Shego can't weaponize anything."

"What? How do you know that?"

The answer came from behind him, in the hatch of the ship. "We _tested_ her."

"I told you to leave her alone." He turned to face Deimos, still refusing to accept it. "You're crazy."

"Yes-"

"-we-"

"-are."

"Stop doing that. I've told you that for the last time."

"You're right," they chorused, moving toward him. "_You have_."

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, a readout filled with data; Wade looked at it in triumph. "Jackpot! Gravitational anomalies in a big way, Kim. I've got a fix on it now: here's the coordinates."

"Please and thank you," she replied, without thinking. A moment later the hovercar turned, swooped off into the Eastern sky, its occupants ready for battle.

Unaware that the rules had drastically, dramatically changed.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: every Hawkwind album I have, and that's a lotta Hawkwind albums. 13.5 hours of it. Shuffle that play!

* * *

Kim was checking her mission paraphernalia, one item at a time. Hair dryer/grappling hook, check. Laser lipstick, check. Expanding hair gel, check. She took out her compact, almost opened it; Ron caught her hand.

"Look out," he chided her. "The knockout gas, remember?"

"It's not the same one," she said, flipping it open. Her reflection looked back at her, green eyes filled with worry. Again she wondered what she was doing here. Why she'd insisted on dragging them through one more adventure. There was no reason an amateur fanfiction should have so clouded her judgment. Unless –

"Ron, right before we went into Hench's place – you were reading a fanfic, right?"

"Let's not talk about it," he said, with a shudder. "It was terrible. Just thinking about it tears me up." He sniffed, pulled out a hanky, daubed at his eyes, realized both Kim and Drakken were looking at him strangely and pulled himself together. "Why would anyone write stories like that about us?" He blew his nose, loudly.

"_Why_, indeed." She polished the mirror with a tissue, replaced the compact in her belt. "Who wrote it?"

"I don't know, uh, _Gormo_ or _Gogro_ or some such name, I think. What's it matter? They all use pseudonyms."

"Have you ever read Bartolomew's treatise on verbally induced emotional states?"

"Ya know, I just finished that last weekend." The snarky tone of his voice kindled an angry fire in his wife's emerald eyes. "No, wait, that was a _Fearless Ferret_ novelization. Not so familiar with Bartolomew's treatise on la-tee-da da da."

She already had Wade on the Kimmunicator. "Ever been to Fanfic dot com?"

"Ah, no," replied the young genius. "I don't waste my time on shipping fantasies."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Uh, er," Wade stammered, flustered, "neither do I."

Kim decided she really didn't _want_ to know. "There's a section on that site for Kim Possible fanfics."

"You're _kidding_. I've never, uh, I didn't know that –"

"Never mind that. Copy all of it, but _do not read it_. _None_ of it. Understand?"

The young man was taken aback by her intensity. "Okay… then what?"

"Send the whole thing to Dr. Beverly F. Skinner for analysis." She gave him an email address, continued. "Tell her it's for me. She'll understand."

"Favors aren't just for rides any more, are they?"

"It was a few years ago. In Venice. No big, just a hostage sitch."

"What're you expecting to find?"

"You never know."

"Never know what?" asked Ron, who was quite left behind, but at that moment Drakken nosed the hovercar out of the clouds.

"Behold," cried the blue man, "the nexus of evil!"

"A fraudulent volcano?" Kim looked disgusted as the hovercar drew near the little island. "Don't super-villains have any creativity at all? My five-year-old could come up with a more original lair."

Drakken looked around at her, a bit irritated. He'd always liked the fraudulent volcano design. "There's more to supervillainy," he testily explained, "than just sloppily throwing together a lair. The volcano is stylish. Effective, yet retro. I have to give this guy props." The hovercar circled the peak; as they'd expected, the smoke and artificial lava generators were just below the rim of the crater. "Not that it'll help him any when I find him."

Kim and Ron shared a glance, wondering exactly what the blue man had in mind. He wasn't much of a fighter on his own, and so far his inexorable botanical powers had made no resurgence. Did he have some sort of portable doomsday device, simply awaiting the proper moment to loose its scientific Armageddon on the man in black?

They regarded their former enemy with a barely concealed awe.

As they descended, armed men fired blasters from every level, but Drakken dodged the rays like an expert. He'd had a lot of practice dodging his own malfunctioning superweapons over the years.

At the very bottom of the gargantuan, multi-leveled lair stood the _Copernicus_, dwarved by its surroundings, its hungry antigravity accelerators drinking down power from massive transformers, awaiting the liftoff command. Henchmen gathered around it, shock rods in hand, watching nervously as the hovercar spiraled ever closer. The boss had assured his men that this wouldn't be happening; he had taken steps, he'd said, to keep superheroes off their backs. But there were superheroes coming, regardless of the boss' assurance, and his henchmen were beginning to sweat.

It was becoming painfully clear that the boss wasn't everything he thought he was.

At the hovercar controls, Drakken surreptitiously gritted his teeth, silently tensed himself, commanding his lethal flowers and vines to manifest themselves. Nothing. He'd tried several times on the journey without success.

He _knew_ he could do it. All it took was confidence. Belief. But for some reason, he kept remembering that horrible fanfic, the one where he and Shego were killed in a world-wide cataclysm caused by Dementor and Electronique, and his confidence leaked out like water from a sieve. He glanced back at his former enemies, decided he wouldn't tell them. The whole _O Boyz_ shipping thing was a bit too embarrassing. Besides, it sounded like they were already on it. Whatever "it" was.

Maybe he should have put some sort of threatening secret weapon together before bolting out of the lab. It was so much easier to prepare for things when Shego was there.

* * *

"Stay back," warned the man in black, drawing a strange weapon, shakingly pointing it at the twins. Sweat beaded on his brow, glistened on his gigantic nose. "This is no tranquilizer gun. It's a _gyrojet_. The most feared handgun in the _world_." He'd actually bought the thing for next to nothing at an Army surplus dealer. The gyrojet program had been a colossal failure for the military, but he hoped the twins didn't know that. It certainly _looked_ menacing enough.

James Possible looked on, no external response betraying how fast his mind was racing. Though the compliance chip suppressed individual response, its victim was still completely aware of what was going on around them. He had been involved peripherally in the cyberweapon project, completely against his will. The government had insisted. Its ultimate goal had been an army of cyborgs, all of them telepathically connected, all of them armed with weapons controlled by thought alone. An army that thought as one, moved as one, conquered as one.

The results had been catastrophic. Rhesus monkeys fitted with the cybertech had been rendered quivering, squirming lumps, completely unable to deal with the telepathic fusion. The funding had dried up, the plug pulled on the project. Only two full-scale prototypes had been ever completed, one a cyberlaser, the other a sonic disruptor, both containing cybertronic telepathy circuits. Neither had ever been tested.

Somehow these young women had obtained those prototypes, and survived both the home-brew surgery that had attached the units and the effects of the units themselves. More than survive, adapt to it.

More or less.

The man in black waved the gun wildly. "I'll blow your _brains_ out. I'm not joking. I've planned this too long to be defeated by nuts like you."

"You're no fun," said Phobos, and vaporized the pistol with a flare of her optical cyberlaser. The man in black yelped, danced about the cabin in pain, flapping his burned hand like a fan. His former flunkies waited patiently for him to regain control before issuing their ultimatum.

"We want this spaceship." Deimos' disruptor antenna spun, came to bear on the man in black. "And the scientist. He'll show us how to fly it."

Phobos was watching her toes wiggle inside her shoe. Without looking up, she added, "You don't need either. Your plan is unworkable."

Deimos laughed. "It was a stupid plan anyway. Sneezing powder. Stupid. Silly."

"No fun. No fun at all."

"You should talk," came the defiant response. "Stolen cybertech. Zodiac gas. Armored personnel carriers. Small potatoes. You couldn't even kill Kim Possible, uh, _Stoppable_ and that goofy husband of hers."

The sinister figure's words kindled hope in the astrophysicist's heart. Kim and Ron, still alive! They must have sent the Sloth in under remote control. And if they were still alive, they were on the way.

The man's rant continued unabated. "_I_ stopped the Stoppables. _I_ captured Shego. You'd both be back in the asylum if not for me. Nothing more than vandals. Hardly the stuff of legend. My world-wide sneezing epidemic would have been remembered for a hundred thousand years."

The twins paid no attention to their former master, but stood before Mr. Dr. P, hands on hips. "We don't like the ship design."

"It's too Buck Rogers. Don't you think it's too Buck Rogers, Mr. Scientist?"

"No," Dr. Possible heard himself answer. "It's modeled on Captain Constellation's ship. The _Comet LX5_."

"Is he a superhero?"

"We _hate_ superheroes. Spoilsports. Killjoys."

"_We'll_ show Captain Constellation how to design a ship. Special. _Original_. Maybe a –"

"-pyramid –"

"-or a trapezohedron-"

" – or a cube." The twins looked at each other, nodded. "A _cube_. Anything wrong with _that_, Mr. Scientist?"

"A cube is not aerodynamic," droned the astrophysicist, despite his best effort to remain silent. "It would be destroyed in the earth's atmosphere."

"We don't want to fly it in the earth's atmosphere." They pointed upward as one. "Space. The final frontier." A shared giggle. "We're going to be space pirates."

"Space pirates," snorted the man in black, sitting in the ship's control chair. "Why did I ever think you'd be assets? "

They frowned, pouted, fell silent. Outside the ship there were the sounds of battle. The twins disregarded it. "Mr. Scientist," began Phobos, mournfully, "do you know anything about cybernetic implants?"

"Yes," he admitted, desperately wanting to deny it.

"Because we think we need more people in the network. _Clever_ people."

"Not like Mr. Bignose over there. He's no fun."

"We wouldn't _be_ in a network that would let _him_ in."

The ebon-clad villain, engaged in surveying the ship's controls, ignored the lunatics. Mere minutes to liftoff capacity. And, unlike the cyborg twins, he _could_ fly the ship. He'd spent a lot of time hacking top-secret sites just to get that knowledge. He could cut his losses, escape, begin work on a new and better plan. If he could just think of some way to get rid of the unwanted baggage.

"People like _you_," continued the cyborgs, circling Dr. Possible. "If you _joined_ us, we'd _know_ about science. And if _Shego_ joined us, we'd know about _martial arts_."

"And _sarcasm_. Mockery. She _likes_ to mock people. It's fun."

"Wouldn't that be fun, Mr. Scientist?"

"No. It's insulting and impolite," he answered, inwardly terrified that the maniacs would take offense at the relentlessly truthful responses the compliance chip forced from his mouth.

They didn't seem to care. "And since you and Shego are _sane_, you would balance us out. We could all work together. In the network." Their deranged smiles returned, their bright blue crazy eyes sparkled as if looking upon Paradise. "In the _collective_."

"Take them back to Shego, Dr. Possible," the man in black suggested, adjusting some sliders on the control panel. "I don't need her. And they do. They need both of you. For their collective."

"Yes, Master," said the scientist, and began walking.

The twins immediately forgot their erstwhile employer, followed the astrophysicist, still reciting their plans. "You know in _Star_ _Wars_, when they called the androids _droids_? We're _cyborgs_. Maybe we'll call ourselves something like that, too. When we're all together. When we're all in the collective. What do you think, Mr. Scientist?"

Staring straight ahead, Dr. P. intoned "It sounds ugly. It would never catch on."

The shadow of a huge nose fell across the three of them like a dark cloud. "See? Don't say I never did anything for you."

"We'll see," the twins snapped in unison, and slammed the hatch shut behind them.

The man in black leaped up, locked it shut, returned to the launch controls. "Space pirates." He had never laughed so hard in his life.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: a little Green Day, a touch of Symphony-X, a bit of Roger Sessions, a breath of Hawkwind, a byte of Kraftwerk. Shuffle till done!

* * *

Two henchmen went flying across the room; Kim dodged the third's shock-rod, used the force of the man's brute rush to catapult him after his fellows. Another sprang from somewhere overhead, blaster flaring. She cartwheeled toward him, narrowly avoiding the beam, and took him out with a solid kick to the jaw. Spinning around, she saw her husband across the room, struggling with several of the man in black's minions.

That shouldn't be happening. Ron had enough power to handle the technobarbarians from Lorwardia, much less these flunkies. But his MMP glow flickered and flashed, one minute full strength, the next feeble and waning. The henchmen sensed his weakness, closed in, jeering.

She fired her grappling hook, swung across the huge launch bay to join Ron in the fight. "Ron," she began, as they stood together, surrounded by warily circling henchmen, "what's the sitch? You should have taken all these guys out –" Three burly men rushed the Stoppables, shock-rods crackling with power; as one they met the challenge, disarmed the villains and sent them flying. " – By yourself," Kim finished.

Her husband was surrounded by the fearsome glow of Mystical Monkey Power, but even as she watched, it again flickered like a failing fluorescent. "I don't know, Kim! I can't – can't focus. That _fanfic_ –"

"_Ron_!" With her Battlesuit's energy-deflecting glove, she intercepted a blast from overhead, flung it back at the sniper with devastating effect. "Get that out of your head!" As she said it, a bit from one of the things came back to her like a slap in the face_: "Danger, destruction, delirium, desperation. Was this all there was to life?" _

It was from the story that had so troubled her, the one that depicted, somehow, their last adventure. Their decision to give all this up. The one that had almost forced her to take this mission on, just to prove the author wrong. She still had what it takes. She was still _Kim Possible_. She could _still_ do _anything_ .

A sudden vision of her little daughter froze her in her tracks. Why, in the name of God, had she done this? And why was she thinking like a carefree teenager? She had a family now –

A shock-rod caught her in the stomach, threw her against the metal wall, hard. The henchman guffawed, advanced on her, only to be attacked by Ron, kicking and biting, unable to muster his world-saving power, determined to defend the woman he loved. Just beyond them the launch gantry elevator descended, though they were not aware of it, or of the threat it contained.

They were too busy fighting for their lives.

* * *

Noted psycholinguist Beverly Francine Skinner shared initials and a last name with the famous Burrhus Frederic Skinner, behavioral psychologist and author of _Walden 2._ She often joked that her name led her to her profession.

She wasn't joking now.

Somewhat puzzled by Kim Possible's request, she'd begun by running the thousands of text files Wade had downloaded from Fanfic-dot-com through software of her own devising, a program which detected psychological cues, subliminal messages, and other insidious linguistic traps. The power of the written word over the human mind was incredible, yet very little research had been done on it, outside of her own.

The results were unremarkable. As the program proclaimed one fanfic after another safe, she'd amused herself by reading a few.

She had been in the middle of a remarkably well written story concerning a scandalous centerfold when the warning beep sounded. Skinner regarded the onscreen graph with something close to annoyance. "Needs a reboot. That can't be right," she muttered under her breath. When the machine came back online, she repeated the scan on the last story. Then another by the same author. And another. Annoyance turned to awe. And deep concern.

She snapped her phone open, called the number she thought she'd never use. Global Justice had covertly funded her development of the analysis software, convinced that somewhere, somehow, someone might use coded messages to sway the minds of the populace. It sounded insane at the time, but they were putting up the money, and she was intrigued by the experiment. She'd processed religious tomes, best sellers and classical literature, amazed at how often the writers had intuitively grasped the power of a certain phrase, a particular construct of words.

But this was no intuitive accident. This was a purposeful, diabolical setup, written by someone whose knowledge of psycholinguistics was far beyond her own. Someone dangerous enough to report to GJ before their sinister stories harmed anyone.

If they hadn't already.

* * *

Concealed in a niche between two enormous generators, Drakken watched as the Stoppables struggled with the swarm of grim henchmen, trying with all his mind and heart to make the vines and flowers appear, the botanical power that would make him invincible.

Nothing. The Stoppables were going to die, Shego might already be dead, and he was hiding, paralyzed with fright. Just like the bad old days. Just like all those stories that ended with his defeat, or his despair, or his demise. Strange how they kept intruding on his concentration, reminding him of just how asinine he really was. Almost like some sort of hypnotism. Mind control.

That was one thing he'd been pretty good at. Mind control. After all, he'd invented _Dr. D's Brainwashing Shampoo and Cranium Rinse!_ Shego didn't steal that one for him from some top secret installation or island laboratory. He'd developed it himself. From scratch. And the_ telepathic amplifier_, his most famous creation, an incredible tool in treating certain mental illnesses. The device that had made him the respected and honoured Dr. Drew Lipsky in the eyes of the world.

Yes, he knew mind control inside and out. Causes, symptoms, effects –

The fanfic's crippling mental darkness was suddenly blasted by dawning light. "Wait a minute," snarled Dr. D, "I _get_ it!" He glared out at the _Copernicus_, watching the gantry elevator descend, and stood up, unafraid. "I'll shake this off. Whoever you are," he thundered, "you won't beat me at _my own game_. I won't _let_ you."

Several shock-rod wielding henchmen heard his declaration above all the din of battle, advanced in his direction.

"Aw, poop," squeaked the blue man, and ran.

* * *

"It's exactly what you people feared," Skinner told Betty Director. "Someone's using Fanfic-dot-com to set psychological booby-traps."

"Mind control? One of Drakken's projects? All our surveillance indicated that he really has gone straight."

"He's one of the targets. Drakken, Shego, Dementor, Electronique, someone is trying to make sure all the possible competition, hero or villain, is out of the running."

"How do you know that? You're not reading it yourself, are you?" Director's voice held an edge of alarm.

"If you're not in it, you're not affected. It's designed to draw its targets in. To lower their natural defenses by making them the main characters."

"What about Kim and Ron Stoppable?"

"Oh, you bet. It would destroy their confidence. Only a uniquely assertive personality would have a chance of shaking it off. It's poison. Devastating. And yet the style is so simple, pared-down to basics."

"Easy to read."

"You need to contact them. Warn them. Kim must have seen some of it; she had Wade Load send me the files."

"If she has, what, uh, what _effect_ will it have on her?"

The barely concealed worry in Director's voice troubled Skinner. "At the very least she'll need counseling; at worst, she might have to submit to the Lipsky treatment, telepathically purge the psychic toxins. If her husband's read it, he'll need the same. Luckily the Stoppables retired from adventuring, or they'd really be in danger."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

"They _are_ retired, right? Raising a family and all that?"

There was still no answer.

* * *

The gantry elevator doors slid open silently on the pitched battle around the ship. The gestalt creature that had been Phoebe and Debbie Marrs, then Phobos and Deimos, and was now beginning a new phase of existence, drew back, a snarl of rage on both its faces.

"The girl."

"Redhead."

"Hurt us at the Space Center."

"We _hate_ her. She doesn't _deserve_ to be part of our collective. She deserves –"

"— to be _destroyed_."

They stood on either side of James Possible, who blankly stared at the mayhem, the compliance chip still secure on his forehead. "You hate her too, don't you, Mr. Rocket Scientist?" asked the cybernetic beings.

Sweat broke out on Possible's forehead, but he answered regardless. "No."

"_No_?" The cyborg twins were shocked. "Why not? What's she to you?"

"She's my daughter," droned the scientist, "and I love her."

The twins glanced at each other, shoved the astrophysicist from the elevator. "We don't want you in the collective any more." One of them bent down, removed a blaster from an unconscious henchman's holster. "Walk over there –"

" – and kill her. With _this_," said the cyborgs, handing him the weapon. "We'll get by with just Shego. She'll be enough for now."

Dr. P. felt his feet moving against his will, saw his hand holding the lethal weapon, saw his daughter and her husband valiantly fighting the diminishing group of the man in black's minions. Struggled to defy the deadly orders, to no avail.

In the Copernicus, waiting for the anti-grav engines to attain full charge, the man in black watched the events below on a monitor and laughed. The twins might have been absolutely useless as minions, and ultimately more dangerous than he had predicted, but he was evidently going to get at least one victory out of their madness.

"She should have stayed retired. Stayed at home with her kid," he told the control room. "Must not have read my fanfic trap, or she _would_ have."

He switched the monitor view to the sky-filled crater far above, began the final countdown to takeoff. Clicked a switch; the control room shook to the beat of Green Day's _American Idiot._

He always did his best work to music.

* * *

"Who wrote those stories?" snapped Betty Director.

"Strange name. Probably a pseudonym. Looks vaguely Swedish."

"The name, Dr. Skinner!"

"_Morskopp_. Gomro Morskopp."

There was a quickly stifled gasp. "I thought he was dead."

"Who is he?" Skinner demanded, not caring if she was treading on dangerous ground, remembering the vivacious, red-haired young woman who had saved her and a dozen other tourists from the amphibious terrorists in Venice, quite a few years ago now. Realizing the girl was enmeshed in something bigger than even she could handle, if she'd actually read any of the terrible tales. "_Who is he_?" she asked again.

"A very, very bad man," came the grim reply. Then Beverly Skinner was holding a silent phone.

Hundreds of miles away, deep in the volcano lair, a very, very bad man threw a final switch. The sound of the anti-gravity generators filled the lair, startled hero and villain alike with their furious howl. Only one person was unaffected by the noise; expressionless, he continued to advance on his daughter, his finger tightening on the trigger of the blaster.

Her voice inaudible, Kim's mouth formed a single word. "Dad?"

The ray lashed out.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: if Disney owns it, I don't. Otherwise… Soundtrack for this chapter: Dominic Frontiere's _Outer Limits_ s/t.

* * *

Kim jumped aside, barely in time; the beam singed the hair on her head. She threw up her force-field bubble, but it remained only a second before the Battlesuit shorted out with a brief, ignominious crackle. She _knew_ she should have had Wade look it over before they left.

After all, it had been in the closet for years.

"Dad, _no_!" Another blast, which she deflected with a fallen henchman's shock-rod. "_Fight_ it!"

He _was_ fighting it. No one would ever know the extent of his mental struggle. But the chip's command proved irresistible.

Beyond them the _Copernicus_ slowly began to rise, its pilot not daring to engage its incredible speed until he was completely clear of the narrow lair. Its anti-grav thrusters emitted something that looked like fluttering, glowing feathers.

Ron was surrounded by henchmen, unable to get to Kim, unable to stop her father. The next shot struck Kim's shock-rod at its centre, shattering it; there was no further defense and nowhere to run. The young woman stared in horror at her father, her assassin, knowing this was the end, unable to believe it had come like this.

Then, from behind him, a vine darted out, plucked the gun from his hand, smashing it; another whipped around, flicked the evil chip from his forehead. Dr. P. fell forward with a sigh; his daughter caught him, eased him to the floor.

Drakken stepped forward in full botanical fury, crushed the compliance chip beneath his heel.

Ron's adversaries took one look at the blue man and fled for the nearest exit. Incredibly quickly, Drakken's vines lashed out, ripped down a portion of the overhead catwalk, wrapped it tightly around their fleeing foes. "It's time for some vegetable vengeance, boys," raged the doctor, his ferocity not lessened a bit by the petals around his head. "No one works _mind control_ on _Dr. Drakken_ and gets away with it. Now _where is Shego_?"

"Thirteenth floor, room 23," said Dr. Possible, so weakly that only his daughter heard him. The ordeal had left him exhausted. "She told me to remember. As we left." His expression turned to alarm as the ship's radiant exhaust washed over them. "Look out … _lazy gravity_…!" The strange substance filled the lair as the ship ascended. A room full of sparkling feathers.

"It's … like …molasses," Kim gasped. "I can…barely…_move_!"

"Infinitesimal… halflife," muttered Dr. P. "Won't last long…"

Above them, the man in black leaned far out of the ship's access hatch, hurled something down to them, something black and round with a sizzling fuse. "Thanks for the ship… and the gazuntite!" his amplified voice bellowed. "Don't say I never gave _you_ anything!" The hatch slammed shut.

The bomb crept downward through the lazy gravity, slowly, ominously, inexorably. They all sensed that it was far more destructive than its tiny diameter implied. Drakken tried to shoot out his vines, to seize it and throw it back, but caught in the quantum jelly of lazy gravity, they were useless.

Ron closed his eyes, concentrated, his mind battered by a thousand doubts he had to overcome. One chance at this. The blue glow of MMP ignited around him; he leaped into the air, the supernatural current of Tai Sheng Pek Kwar defying all the power of science and physics.

_Buffoon…ignorant…just the rebound guy_, came the accusing thoughts, but he defied them. It was all just something he'd read. Well, maybe he was a _bit_ buffoonish, now and then. And he probably _should_ have paid more attention in school. There _was_ a lot of stuff he didn't know.

The steady blue glow suddenly began to flicker.

"But I'm _not_ the _rebound guy_," he yelled, and the aura flared like a blue star. "_She loves me_."

He intercepted the sinister sphere, spun around in mid-air and flung it back toward the departing rocket with all the power of a born football hero. The bomb tore through the quickly fading exhaust like a missile, but the ship had finally cleared the lair and begun to accelerate as well.

The explosion toppled equipment, collapsed part of the roof, knocked heroes and henchmen alike to the floor. A lump of concrete struck Drakken in the head; he crumpled without even a moan, vines and flowers retracting. Kim was instantly at his side.

Groaning, the blue man opened his eyes. "Am I dying?"

"You're just dazed. It didn't even break the skin." It was a pretty ugly bruise, though. "Show a girl some flowers."

He concentrated. "Can't. Can't do it. My head –" They all looked up as the _Copernicus_ howled into the sky, its thrusters now wide-open. "Do you think he's – got Sherri?"

The spacecraft was wobbling on its axis.

"Good shot, Ronald!" MrDrP exclaimed. "I think you hit it!"

For a full minute it struggled to stay aloft, shrieking ever higher into the stratosphere, a tiny glittering dot in the heavens. In an instant it was lost to sight in the clouds. Then it reappeared, turned on its side far above them and began a slow but inevitable spiral descent, trailing a dark plume of smoke.

Henchmen jumped from the windows, fled down the halls, bolting in panic.

"Ron! Get Dad and Drakken out of here!"

"What - where're you going?"

"To get Shego." She fired her grappling hook, shot upward on the wire. Her husband, her father, and her former enemy watched her ascend across the lair.

Across eternity.

The emerald harlequin was still in her bonds, her head shaven. Kim whipped out her laser lipstick, cut through the bonds. "We gotta get out of here."

"You _bet_ we do. I owe Big Nose a beating."

They hadn't taken two steps when they were slammed against the unyielding titanium wall, unable to catch their breath, every molecule in their bodies in agony, the taste of blood in their mouths. Another crushing blast of sound, bruising them inside and out.

When their vision cleared, Phobos and Deimos stood in the doorway of the room. Phobos wagged her finger at them like a schoolmarm. "You should have stayed chained up. We were going to" – a pause, then a smile – "_assimilate_ you. But you can't be allowed to threaten the collective. It's too new. Too fragile."

"The _ship_," Kim pleaded, "is about to _crash_ on us."

Green plasma flared. "No time for diplomacy," snarled Shego, but before she could fire, Deimos' disruptor roared again. And kept roaring. Kim stared in horror as the green woman writhed, twisted, screamed.

Phobos' laser eye glowed like a hot coal, her mouth a crazy grin. "We've never killed anyone before," she shouted, to be heard over the din.

Deimos' disruptor shook the walls. "It's _fun_."

Kim pulled out her laser lipstick, hardly believing what she was about to do; before she could use it, Phobos snatched it from her trembling fingers and, in one fluid motion, spun to kick her feet from under her. Apparently their ongoing evolution had made them a lot more efficient.

The redheaded woman went down, hard.

Her cyborg adversary towered over her. "Brutal," she spat. "Ugly. Vicious. We're going to split you open like a piñata."

"And we'll find out what you're made of," added Deimos, her insanely happy gaze never wavering from Shego's tortured form. "Sugar and spice – "

"— and everything nice. Or maybe just blood and guts." Phobos' laser eye flared. ""We'll get someone else for the _collective_." They giggled. "We'll get the _whole world_." The faltering whine of the _Copernicus_ could now be heard clearly, even over the disruptor's thunder. "And anyone who won't join… will be _deleted_."

A blinding crimson beam shot from Phobos' eye.

With superhuman reflexes, Kim grabbed her compact from her utility belt, caught the ray with its mirror.

The reflected laser neatly severed Deimos' disruptor antenna, silencing the thunder with a cascade of sparks. Their telepathic circuits bound them both in a feedback loop of fear and pain. Sparks continued to erupt as the stricken sisters staggered backward, clutching their heads, shrieking in perfect unison:

"— Not_fair_not_right_ Cheater_cheater_dirtybrutal_spoilsport_ Stopit _Stopit_ _STOPITSTOPITHELPHELPHELP_ -"

The laser flashed wildly, slicing holes in the walls, the floor, missing Kim and Shego by millimeters, severing the protective rail of the catwalk even as the cyborg girls fell against it. With a final incoherent scream they tumbled over the edge.

Then the sound of the spacecraft's engines filled the world.

"We're not getting out this time." Shego coughed hard, blood staining her lips, and weakly smiled. "I turned the alarm on at Hench's. Thought you were stealing my thunder."

Drakken's hovercar whirred erratically to a wobbly stop just outside the room, Dr. P. and Drakken in the rear, Ron anxiously clutching the controls, his knuckles white. "Kim! Shego! I can't get any closer. You need to be here, _now_!"

"_Go on_," Shego gasped. "I can't –"

Mustering the last of her strength, Kim lifted her fallen ally, her onetime foe. Shego bit her lip to keep from screaming as broken bones grated against each other, closed her eyes tight against the pain.

They reached the hovercar just as the _Copernicus_ plowed into the lair, becoming a blazing supernova as its shattered generators unleashed their full fury in a paroxysm of destructive force.

Ron screamed "_Do it! Do it now_!" to someone, even as the white-hot fireball hurtled down, blocking all chance of exit.

An instant later the island exploded.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: if Disney owns it, I don't. Otherwise… Soundtrack for this chapter: a whole lot of music by Alan Hovhaness, beginning with _Mysterious Mountain; _Alice Cooper's_ Killer._

* * *

With tears running down her cheeks, the little girl clung to her mother, looked up at her with a devastating dose of the Puppy Dog Pout. "Please stay! It's been so long…"

It had been seven months since the crash of the _Copernicus_. In that time, Cinnabar Sunrise Stoppable had seen her parents a grand total of 11 days. She couldn't understand the psychic damage Morskopp's fanfics had inflicted on them, or Global Justice's enforced insistence on their submission to the Lipsky Technique. For much of those seven months they had been kept from the public, until telepathic probing could both remove the mental blocks and prove to Dr. Betty Director that they hadn't been turned into sleeper agents by the evil superspy's machinations.

All the child knew was that her parents had come back home, and she didn't want them to leave again.

The Lipskys had fared no better. At least, under GJ's advanced medical care, Shego had recovered from Deimos' lethal attack; maybe the agency's director realized the former villains were going to be their only superpowered allies, once Kim and Ron could return to normal life.

_And if they _don't_ realize that yet, _Kim thought_, they will when we leave this final debriefing today._

"Cini," she said, blinking back tears herself, "this is the last time. It'll only be a little while, and then we'll be home for good."

"Really?"

She kissed her daughter. "Really."

Ron stood by her, a troubled expression on his boyish features. It was hard for him to deal with emotional situations. Sometimes he simply allowed his wife to take care of it. This was proving to be one of those times. Still, he had to say _something_.

"Cinnabar, we'll be back in just a little while this time. I mean it. And –" he hesitated, unsure of what he was trying to say, " – we'll all go to Mooville and get ice cream."

Anne Possible stepped forward, took Cinnabar by the hand. Gave her daughter and son-in-law a brief, sharp glance, a look that said _don't disappoint my granddaughter_.

"I mean it," he repeated. "We'll be right back."

"Mommy, Daddy, look out for the lady with the eyepatch," the little girl suddenly announced. "I dreamed about her. She's _bad_."

With a silent green flash, they disappeared.

The Lipskys were already at GJ HQ when they materialized. Without any preamble, Dr. Director began to speak; her first announcement was dismaying, but not at all surprising. "We didn't find any sign of Gomro Morskopp in the wreckage. He's no novice at this. Been around a while. Probably had some sort of escape route ready in case the plan went south."

"Supervillains have more lives than a cat," said Drakken, shaking his head sadly. "They shake off spaceship crashes like water off a duck's back."

Shego added "Dr. D. and I were both on that side of the fence for a while, and we know."

Ron had a question. "What's a… _while_?"

Director glared at him, but finally deigned to reply. "In this case, since the early Seventies. He gave my predecessor a lot of trouble." That trouble had ended with her predecessor's explosive demise in a sabotaged GJ minisub, in fact, but she didn't see any need to reveal that.

Ron was still not satisfied. "Why didn't you warn us about him? It might have made things a little easier."

"What happened to the twins?" Shego suddenly interjected.

Director shrugged. "That's need-to-know."

"They almost killed me. I need to know."

"Yes," said Drakken, as his flower petals burst out with a pop. "_We_ need to know." He stepped forward threateningly. "Surely you're not implying they _survived_ that."

Global Justice's boss seemed unperturbed. "_You_ survived it."

"If – er – Stoppable hadn't gotten his tech guy on the horn and given him the hovercar's energy signature, we wouldn't have. You people teleported us out."

"Then you owe us, don't you think?"

"I was in this _before_ you got the Stoppables involved," growled the green woman. "I was taking care of it." She glanced at her husband's hurt expression and her voice softened for a moment. "We. _We_ were taking care of it. _You_ brought Kimmie and monkeyboy in. _You_ muddied the waters. _You_ owe _us_. _And I want to know_."

Without warning, Director stood up behind her desk and faced Shego, her voice harsh. " Sherri Lipsky, you couldn't handle a _fraction_ of the things we know. There are worse things out there than Gomro Morskopp, believe me. Worse things than Phobos and Deimos."

"They weren't Phobos and Deimos any more, Dr. Director." Kim's words were quiet, even, but authoritative. "They were becoming something else. Said something about a 'collective.' There was cybertronic technology in the implants, you know. It can grow, mutate, evolve with its surroundings."

"Yes, I _know_." Director spoke with high disdain. "Your father has a big mouth. Perhaps someone should teach him how to shut it."

Ever the mediator, Ron tried to defuse the situation. "Are we done here? We have a little girl waiting on ice cream at home."

"Yes, we're done," Director snarled. "I've had your psychometrics checked and rechecked; you're free of the taint. Fanfic-dot-com is down and we have its perpetuators in custody."

"They probably had no idea what was going on," Ron said. "Who would?"

"Time will tell." Director pushed a button; a panel slid open in the wall. "We're finished. The teleportation centre is right down that hall; they'll send you back to your homes. GJ thanks you for your help," she said, her tone remarkably unthankful. "The gazuntite catastrophe was averted."

As the Lipskys, frowns on their faces, stalked down the hall, Ron stopped in the doorway. "What happened to Dishonor House, anyway?"

"There won't be any sneezing powder for a while, but that's what insurance is for."

"No big loss," he said with a shudder, remembering an incident in his youth. If he'd only been a little more careful opening that package… "At least the sea-monkeys survived," he told no one in particular. "Come on, hon. Let's get out of here."

Kim was still standing at Dr. Director's desk. "You go on," she said, gently. "I'll be right behind you."

He stepped back into the room; Kim silently motioned for him to leave. With confusion and more than a little worry on his face, he did as she asked. The panel closed behind him.

Before Director could react, she was pinned against the wall. "Now _you_ listen to _me_, Betty," snarled Kim Stoppable. "We're done with GJ, done with adventuring, done with the lot of it. You won't make us do this again."

"You owe us your lives," hissed the GJ chief. "If we hadn't listened to Wade, you would have all died in the explosion. And we didn't _make_ you take on the mission; you did that yourself."

"_I don't think so_." Kim twisted the woman's arm a little harder. "I think you _knew_ I was struggling with Morskopp's mind control when you brought us here the first time."

"W – what?"

"I think you _played_ me. Morskopp thought his stories would permanently demoralize me; you people knew my subconscious wouldn't submit to that."

"Aren't you the clever little cheerleader. So sure of yourself."

"You want to tell me you _didn't_? You people have some remarkable techniques for healing broken bones; Shego's doing fine now. Will they work as well on you?"

"_Yes, _we knew. We didn't know Morskopp was behind it, but we knew you'd been contaminated. Didn't expect you to send the stuff to Skinner, though."

"You used me. Used us."

"So what? Everything worked out, didn't it? You overcame your doubts. Shego recovered from her wounds. Drakken found his powers again. And Ronald, well, I guess he must have gained _something_ from the experience."

Kim twisted the woman's arm one final, furious time, remembering her husband lying on the floor, there in the Space Center, and released her with a vicious shove. "I'm not joking. Get your _spies_ out of our _sewers_, get your _bugs_ out of our _phones_, and turn your _teleporters_ in another direction. We're done here. For good. Now open that panel or I'll kick it in. And don't you _dare_ sound any alarms or call any flunkies. They don't want to meet me right now."

Rubbing her arm, Director turned to her adversary, her gaze hard as flint. "This isn't over, Stoppable."

"It had better be." She hesitated in the doorway. "Some people thought I'd take your place someday. Some people sincerely thought you'd be a great role model for me, when I was a teen." She laughed, cold and staccato. "Just proves that people _can_ be sincerely _wrong_."

Director stood there a full minute after the hatch had shut. Then she returned to her desk, got Hammond on the viewscreen. "Report. What's up with the twins?"

Hammond was a thin, balding man, nervous, secretly afraid of his superiors. "The stuff has spread throughout their bodies. They're as much machine as human now. That's how they healed so quickly. How they survived the blast in the first place."

"Can we dig it out of them?"

"No. It's in too deep." He paused, not sure how to break the recent development to his boss. Looked at his twin charges, at their blind, unblinking eyes, expressionless faces. At the small metallic nub that was slowly growing from the side of Deimos' head. "And it's regenerating itself."

"Of course it is. It's cybertronic."

"When it does, they'll come back online. The network will re-establish itself."

"Have you used the Lipsky device on them? Read their thoughts?"

"Can't. They're locked up. Application hang. Thoughts have to have a forward momentum before we can read them. Whatever their last thought might have been, it's waiting in their heads for the link to be restored."

"I want information, Hammond. I want to know how they adapted to the implants. What's going on inside them. Cyber-telepathic GJ agents would be a huge boon in the field."

"I think we should terminate the subjects and be done with it."

"What?"

"How long will it take their systems to fix themselves? A week? A month? A year? Then they'll be at full power, and with who knows what sort of added capabilities as the thing continues mutating in their bodies. You really think we can handle that?"

"They're _crazy_, Hammond." Director sighed. Was she the only GJ agent with vision? "Most of the time they don't even know what they're _doing_. We can gas them, we can drug them, there are all kinds of ways to keep them under control until we have the secret." She was silent a moment. "Then we'll take your suggestion into consideration. Keep me posted."

The screen went dark. The twins, caught in their private, personal hell, didn't notice. Locked in both their brains was this thought pattern, crystallized, frozen, awaiting the moment of release:

_Someday we'll find each other/ Someday we'll be whole again/We'll find her/Show her/All her fault/Someday we'll pay her back..._

Outside night was quickly falling across the world of the sane and the normal, but for the things that had been Phoebe and Debbie Marrs it would always be night.

…_Someday we'll show her what it's like to lose someone you love._

* * *

He sat before the computer in the harshly lit chromium cave of his emergency lair. Of course he'd escaped the _Copernicus'_ destruction. It was a poor supervillain indeed who didn't have an escape route for every possibility. But the gazuntite was lost, his business connections revealed, his assets frozen, his plan in tatters. It was time to lay low for a while, let the trail grow cold.

It was time to put more effort into Plan B. It didn't need gazuntite or spacecraft or henchmen. Just a laptop and an Internet connexion.

Fanfic-dot-com was gone, but there were other fanfiction sites. He wouldn't even use a different name. Why should he? People regularly used shocking names as nom-de-plumes online. It was a vicarious thrill for them, a chance to be a bad guy. A thrill he had made a dark reality in his own life. Since the world-wide, multi-lingual broadcast proclaiming him Public Enemy #1, the pseudonym "Gomro Morskopp" and variations thereof had metastasized throughout the Web.

Over a hundred thousand, claimed Google.

_Let's see GJ or the Stoppables or the Lipskys find me in all that_, he thought, and grinned, a huge, terrible, toothy grin. The sinister shadow of his giant nose fell across the keyboard. One day he would rise again. The next time, despairing and demoralized by his insidious fanfiction, the whole world would be his handkerchief, and he would blow the nose of domination from horizon to horizon.

He began to type, and the words he typed were these:

_Kim slowly drifted out of dreaming back to consciousness, her hand on her husband's chest, his strong heart pulsing beneath her palm. Her own heartbeat increased in response; her breathing grew heavy as a smile played about her lips. _

"_Ron," she whispered in his ear, her body trembling…_

This would be his magnum opus.

* * *

All three of the Stoppables agreed: the lemon ice cream at Mooville was particularly tasty that night. On the way home, they laughed and smiled as they hadn't in quite a while, and when the youngest Stoppable fell asleep in the back seat, the adults went on in satisfied silence.

Free.

For the moment.


End file.
